


Violet-Tinted Glasses

by ghoulified



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Angst, Asphyxiation, Biting, Choking, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Ghouls, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, ass eating, blowjob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-11-06 22:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulified/pseuds/ghoulified
Summary: Violet was never one to get sentimental. She was easily bored, reckless and impulsive, and was always running from the things she thought she wanted. So it was no surprise when she started getting on with the mayor of Goodneighbor. But she knows the kind of man Hancock is, and she's too smart to fool herself into believing she could be the one that changes his mind. When things get too serious, she'll run.(Almost every part contains porn, designated in the chapter titles.)





	1. (NSFW)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So, I've been a huuuuge fan of Hancock since before FO4 even came out, and I've been writing fanfiction about him since probably around December 2015. I never published anything because I didn't think my writing was good enough to warrant being posted, but I recently got back into things and I decided to try my hand at it. This is a newer piece that I'll probably be writing new chapters for sometime, though I don't know how long it'll end up being or anything. It took me way too many tries to actually hit publish on this one, I think I've written this author's note at least 5 different times. Since I just started writing again I know I'm very rusty so I will appreciate any and all comments! Thank you so much for reading! :)

Violet and Hancock made their way through the fog and rain, kicking up mud and rocks as they headed for shelter for the night. They had planned on making the trek back to Goodneighbor, but the unexpected storm had cut their evening short. What Violet wouldn’t have given for a meteorologist.

“This way,” she directed as she began jogging ahead of him. “I know of a place we can lay low for the night.” The mayor followed her, thinking the entire time about how he really should get his boots cleaned again. They stopped in an alleyway, closed off by a junk wall and a locked door. Corpses decorating the outside—raider territory.

“Uh, you sure this is the place?” he questioned uneasily, staring up at the headless body hanging from a chain above them. She was busy picking the lock on the door.

“I’m sure, I cleared this place out a few days ago and set up some security. Wish I could remember where I put the damn key, though.” She struggled for a few more seconds before she felt it unlock. “Aha.” She swung the door open and gestured for John to follow. He shrugged and did as he was told—following her hadn’t let him down yet.

***

The door closed behind them and they took shelter in one of the few makeshift shacks that littered the cramped space. He could tell she had already spent some time sprucing the place up—it looked as if someone had made a valiant effort to remove several blood stains, and there was a nice setup inside the bottom shack with two mattresses pushed together to form what could someday be a queen size bed. Maybe. A blanket hung overhead, acting as a curtain.

“Cozy place,” Hancock remarked as he holstered his shotgun, taking in the view of this tiny home Violet had carved for herself. She was already sitting on one of the mattresses, digging through her bag.

“Yeah, I thought about maybe fixing it up so that other people could move in, but it just seemed so special to me. I guess I’m selfish that way.” She pulled a white bottle out of the bag and held it in the air. Hancock chuckled and sat down across from her.

“Now what’s that for?” he questioned, leaning his back against the shack wall.

“Just a little something for tonight, since we’re stuck here early. Always have a backup plan.” She popped the cap off of the bottle and raised it to her nose. The aroma was so pungent it could have been jet fuel. “Well, wasteland vodka sure smells a lot different,” she observed, before taking a cautious swig. The taste of the homemade vodka swished over each and every one of her taste buds, and the cringe her face involuntarily twisted into must have been obvious because John laughed. She swallowed the liquid as quickly as possible to keep her from having to taste it for one more second—or before she spat it out.

“A little strong for ya?” the ghoul teased as she started to cough.

“Jesus, that tastes a lot different than what I remember. Do they mix other shit in with this?” she asked as she offered the bottle over to him.

“Usually,” he replied, taking the bottle from her. “The, uh, ‘less reputable’ sellers have a tendency to throw all kinds of shit in their product to raise their profit. I guess that must be a lot different than what you’re used to, huh?” He downed a fair amount without so much as a twitch.

“Yeah, very different, just like everything else I guess.” Violet cracked a smile. “Everything’s different here—the people, the creatures, the alcohol, the drugs…” Hancock stretched his arm across the improvised bed to offer the booze back over to her as he reached into his coat pocket with his other hand. She grabbed the bottle from him just as he pulled a jet inhaler from his pocket. “I hope you’re sharing that,” she quipped before bravely gulping as much of the beverage as she could fit in her mouth.

“Hey, what’s mine is yours, sister,” he answered as he took a casual huff from the canister. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he rode out the initial high, a smile creeping across his face. Violet twisted the cap back onto the alcohol bottle and set it aside while she waited for her turn. After a moment, he lowered his head and shook the inhaler. “You wanna finish this one off for me?” She rolled her eyes and snatched it from him.

“Only if there’s more after this,” she responded, breathing in whatever was left—which wasn’t much. Her head spun for a moment, but it was a dull and very brief high, almost indistinguishable from the tipsiness she was beginning to feel from the booze. “Yeah, that wasn’t much,” she commented as she tossed the empty inhaler aside, almost knocking the alcohol bottle over in the process.

“Damn, watch out, wouldn’t wanna break that,” John commented as he dug his hand into his other coat pocket.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want this swill to go to waste,” Violet jibed as she readjusted herself to hug her knees to her chest. Hancock extended a second inhaler to her.

“For the lady.” She once again grabbed it swiftly from his bony hands, eliciting a laugh from what was left of his lips. He was always happy to be in the company of someone whose bantering skills were on the same level as his own. Violet deeply inhaled this time, making sure there wouldn’t be any left over for John to try and sneak in, as punishment for the first hit. When the container was empty, she dropped it to the floor and compulsively knocked her head back against the wall.

Rendered nearly incapacitated by the primary high, she managed to form the words, “Fuck, that hit was strong.” He couldn’t help but laugh at that again, reaching over for another swig of vodka.

“Enjoying the ride?” he questioned as he raised the drink to his lips. A few moments passed before the high dulled to an enjoyable buzz and she lifted her head away from the wall.

“That was a good one. You have any more?”

“Damn, sister, did you do this many chems before you thawed out? I was under the impression they weren’t as widespread.”

“They weren’t, at least not publicly. But that didn’t stop me.” Violet smirked, her lips cracked and chapped from being exposed to the elements. It stung a bit, especially when the stray drops of alcohol touched them.

“Well you sure do know how to party.” He reached into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out a tin of Mentats. Violet suddenly burst out laughing.

“Jesus Christ, are you like the Santa Claus of chems or something? You have that shit hidden all over yourself, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a stash _in_ you.” He furrowed his brow—first for the Santa comment (who?), and then for the last remark.

“Hey now, I don’t have any reason to be hidin’ them _that_ well.” He opened the tin and popped one into his mouth, leaving the tin open for her to grab whatever she wanted. Violet reached forward for her own fix and swallowed the tablet. She let out a big sigh as she reached for the vodka one last time and drank—going down much more easily this time. As she swallowed, she lifted the bottle up in the air and tried to make out any of the worn labels attached to it.

“So is vodka your drink of choice?” she questioned, squinting at one of the stickers that seemed to have been added much later than the others. He shrugged in response.

“Hell, I can’t be too picky, it all gets the job done. But if I had to pick, yeah, I guess.”

“Mine too, even before the war. Used to taste a lot better though.” There she went talking about “before the war” again. It was strange, Hancock thought, the way she spoke about it. So casually, especially considering what all she had been through. It was almost as if she only missed a few things from that time.

“Well sorry the Commonwealth’s taste isn’t refined enough for you, _princess_ ,” he teased with that roguish grin taking up on his face again.

“Hey, just saying I’ve tasted a lot of booze in my day.” Violet looked up at the roof of the shelter, only just now paying mind to the calming sound of the rain beating down around them. The sound and the current conversation topic brought a memory to the forefront of her brain.

 

“Actually,” she began, “I was drinking a pretty good vodka cocktail the night before the bombs.” Hancock looked at her, almost quizzically, wondering where this story was going to go—if anywhere. Not that she had ever been this way, but he had no patience for people going on and on about the Good Old Days. Being a ghoul, he was often confused for one who had been around for a while and got irritated when they tried to talk about how shitty the world had become. He wasn’t one to dwell on the past, in any situation.

“This is so stupid,” she continued, shaking her head, “but I was feeling pretty shitty. I told Nate I was going to visit an old friend and I headed out the door. I guess it was true, in a way.” She laughed a bit at herself. “I had gone there pretty frequently when I was in college—oh, do—do you know what college is?” She always felt like such an ass asking people questions like that, but it was tough to tell what knowledge carried over and what concepts had become completely obsolete.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it.” The jet was wearing off, so Hancock put another Mentat in his mouth.  

“I feel awful, I lied to just get the fuck out of that house. I was suffocating.” She locked eyes with John for the first time since she started her reminiscing, to try and see if he had become bored with her. He looked as he always did when he was stoned, so she continued. “Back then there was so much pressure for people to get married and have kids and shit, and I swore up and down I would never be that way.

The conflict really fucking changed people, though.” She tried to choose her words carefully, unsure if people out there even knew anything about the Great War or how it started or what even happened to cause it. “I was against it, you see. America was doing some really fucked up shit and I wasn’t about to stand for it. I represented a lot of people they were trying to crush, trying to throw into prisons or one of their little ‘camps’ just because they thought they might be a spy or some kind of traitor.” She looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Just awful shit, really. My husband was one of those people, a lot of people thought he might be a spy—his family came from another country, one that America wasn’t necessarily friends with.” She froze suddenly. “I’m sorry, I’m boring you.”

“Nah,” John replied, “I aired out some of my dirty laundry to you, I think I owe it to ya to hear you out as well.”

“You sure? I won’t be offended, you know. I’ll just take another Mentat and shut up.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, please go on.” Violet reached towards the open tin to take another anyway before continuing.

 

“Anyway, long story short, we got married in hopes that people would stop scrutinizing our every move. He joined the army even though we protested the military just to show people that he wasn’t a threat to the ‘American Way of Life’. It’s so fucked up, I was so miserable, and looking back it was so stupid and selfish of me. People out here, they have real problems. I didn’t have real fucking problems. I don’t know what gave me the right to feel like life owed me something.” John listened intently—the amphetamines were good at getting him to focus—and nodded every so often to show her he was paying attention.

 

Violet continued, “I sat at that bar alone for several hours and just thought about… well, everything. I’ve never told anyone this, but it’s been fucking me up ever since I defrosted, and I feel like I’m going to rip my fucking hair out if I don’t admit it to someone. I kept thinking about leaving them. Leaving my fucking husband and my baby. My son. My family.” John wasn’t sure, but he thought she could have been blinking back tears. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, I wanted to be a different person. I loved him, but I didn’t want to be with him. And I don’t even know what business I thought I had having a baby. But I thought about _leaving_ them. And less than twelve hours later the world ended. I know this isn’t how the world works but it’s hard to not think that, somehow, that was my fault. Like somehow the world wanted to punish me for thinking that. I sure fucking got what I wanted.”

“Damn,” was all Hancock could muster in terms of a response. He wanted to say more, wanted to let her know he was there for her, wanted to tell her that he understood—that he knew what it was like to want to run from your life. But he was silent. Violet exhaled, deep and heavy.

“I hate myself for saying this, but I—Being out here has made me happier than I had been in a long time.” Now that was a shock.

“Whoa, you serious? This world? We’re talkin’ about the same place, right?” She nodded.

“I miss a lot and it’s tough as shit out here, and yeah I would give up anything to not get shot at every day of my life but a part of me wonders if maybe I was supposed to end up here all along. I can’t explain it.” She paused deliberately, as if she were contemplating something that was just at the forefront of her mind, staring past John, out through the cracks of the shelter. “Do you ever get that feeling, deep in your gut? That wherever you are is exactly where you’re supposed to be?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I’ve only felt that way about two things—when I used to sing and dance at cabarets and lounges, and moments like this, out here.” Violet suddenly let out a laugh. “Wow, I’m fucked up, huh?”

“That’s why I’m here.” She looked up at him to find him smiling at her, a real authentic smile. Not condescending or forced, he looked like he really meant it. Violet smirked back at him and wiped away any tears that had escaped with her sleeve.

“Anyway, thanks for hearing me out on that. I just—It’s just been bothering me and I thought you might understand, somehow, for some reason.”

“Hey, I feel you.”

***

A heavy blanket of silence suddenly filled the shack, the only sounds coming from the light storm happening around them outside. Violet stared down at her feet to avoid making eye contact. She was afraid of the way she felt whenever she saw him looking at her. It made her feel like her stomach was tied in knots, gave her a twinge in her abdomen, sometimes in her pelvis. She felt it the first time she stepped foot in Goodneighbor and saw that dashing, roguish ghoul walking towards her in that stupid fucking outfit. The first time she heard him speak, his voice rough and raspy, it only reaffirmed the sensation. The fact he stabbed someone to death in her honor before they even spoke to another didn’t hurt either. She would be the biggest liar in the Commonwealth if she said she had never imagined what it must feel like to have his body pressed against hers, to have her hands running over every inch of his irradiated body, to feel his breath hot against her neck.

It made her a tad uncomfortable, really, how much she wanted this man. More than she had wanted anyone in a very long while. Possibly ever. She had ruined friendships by adding sex into the mix before, though, and made them even worse when a relationship was added on top of that. Violet didn’t want to completely wreck what had become one of her best friendships in a long time. The way they got along was something special to her, the way they both joked at the same speed, the witty banter they engaged in, the fact that he made her feel like she did before she got married and her life became a chore. He gave her permission to engage in her vices, things that she had been missing desperately.

She wasn’t old, she had been preserved at age 30, but she sure felt like it when she was chained to her domestic duties. Hancock made her feel like she was alive again.

***

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours but was probably only 30 seconds before Hancock suddenly shifted his position and began to move over to her side of the shelter. He sat next to her and she felt a shudder in her chest when their shoulders touched.

“You know, we ain’t that far from Diamond City,” he commented, breaking the silence. “You coulda just gone over there and had a nice roof over your head at that inn they got over there. Just a few steps away and you wouldn’t have to be sleeping on a mattress on a wooden floor with rain leaking all over you.”

“Fuck Diamond City,” Violet snapped, much to John’s surprise. “All those people hiding behind that damn wall, shunning anyone who isn’t One of Them, not to mention the ghoul situation, and don’t even get me started on those fuckers in the Upper Stands.” Hancock found himself laughing.

“Well damn, I knew we were together out here for a reason.”

“Your brother’s a real fuckin’ piece of work.”

“That’s an understatement.” They fell silent again, sitting there, backs pressed against the wall, shoulders touching but both facing forward, staring straight ahead instead of at one another.

“I appreciate you telling me all about that, by the way,” Violet said, shifting her head towards Hancock but taking care to not meet his gaze. “At the risk of sounding too sentimental it really is nice to have that kind of trust with someone.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” She swore he started purposefully pressing his shoulder closer to hers when he said that. “You’ve been one hell of a friend.” A million thoughts ran through Violet’s head, combined with her hyperfixation on their bodies touching, even more closely than before. Was he doing that on purpose? She had so many things she wanted to say—many of them surefire ways to ruin a friendship. Maybe it was the drugs, or the alcohol, or both. Or maybe Violet was really just as impulsive as she had always wanted to be. But she decided it was now or never.

“And that’s what we are? Friends?” She forced a mischievous smirk, trying to play it cool, and finally locked eyes with his. Completely blackened, somehow, by his transformation, but yet she still managed to find a way to get lost in them. Her heart was racing, and she hoped to whatever forces there were in the universe that he couldn’t tell she was holding back her body from trembling. There was an extremely uncomfortable pause as Hancock processed what she had just said, and then he grinned that signature devilish smile Violet had become so used to.

“Well, now that you mention it, I have been having slightly more impure thoughts than usual.” His face was closer to hers than before and she could almost feel every word he said sinking deep into her skin. “Maybe we’ll get to… act on those?” Violet, whose entire mind seemed like it had gone blank since she dared to finally flirt with her roadside companion, suddenly sensed a difference in attitude coming from the ghoul. He was many things, and self-conscious was not one of them. But now? The way he looked at her, he seemed cool and collected, but she could sense there was a hint of self-doubt underneath it, for some reason. It was no secret to anyone that Hancock was incredibly skilled in the art of seduction. He was shamelessly open about his sexuality and didn’t care what anyone thought about it. He had had many partners throughout his life—even before he lost his skin—and he didn’t discriminate. Man, woman, neither. As long as he found them easy on the eyes and they were interested, he would give it a go. And he wasn’t the type to stay tied down. He always kept his cool around his partners because he knew there were no strings attached, and he was very confident in his abilities.

But suddenly, she could sense that he was getting nervous. And Violet was going to exploit that for all it was worth.

“Impure thoughts, huh?” she teased, pleased that she was finally able to switch roles. She shifted her position so that her elbow ended up on her crossed legs and her head rested in her hand. “Please do elaborate, I’d like to hear all about them. In detail. Don’t leave anything out, either.” John knew this game, and he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of it. But he was secretly incredibly relieved that Violet was responding in favor of his advances. He regained his confidence.

“I think it’d be better for both of us if I just showed you.” Before Violet could even notice the knot in her stomach tightening, Hancock’s mouth was suddenly pressed against hers. A rush of heat waved over her entire body despite the chill of the outside and she nearly fell over backwards onto the floor.  His kiss was as passionate and heavy as she always imagined, and then some. She breathed in as she kissed him back, letting him slip his tongue between her lips and rolling her own against his. She always wondered what he would taste like, if he would taste different somehow, if the radiation would affect something like that. As her tongue entered his mouth again, he sucked on it for a moment before biting down on her lower lip. The inside of his mouth was hot and she tasted cigarettes and alcohol and the aftertaste of jet and underneath was a sort of metallic flavor, almost like blood, but not quite. There was a hint of acidity in his mouth as well, something she only uncovered after the initial flavor. When she went back in for their next kiss, she reached deeper into his mouth still, wanting more and not quite getting it.

He took her sudden aggression as a sign that she wanted more and bit down on her lower lip, a bit harder than he meant to, but she didn’t cry out. Instead she pulled the collar of his coat towards her and toppled him over so they were laying stacked on top of the mattresses. Hancock lifted his face from hers and when he did her lips felt suddenly cold and empty and she hungered for him even in the few moments he spent away. When he arose, he had meant to tell her something. Probably some kind of smartass quip, or maybe a more straightforwardly sexual statement so he could watch how much it turned her on.

Instead, he stayed like that for a bit longer than he meant to, holding himself up by his arms, hovering over the vault dweller with her disheveled hair and her smudged lipstick that she insisted on wearing for some reason, and her lidded eyes, pupils dilated from chem usage. Much to his dismay, _she_ was the one to break the silence.

“Enjoying the view?” she managed to taunt as the shape of her mouth turned to a smirk.

“You’re not winning the game this time,” he replied dangerously, and with that he nearly slammed his head down onto hers as he kissed her again, harder and darker than before. She moaned into his mouth as they deepened the kiss again, and John lifted a hand to move towards her breast. He traced over the outline for a moment before squeezing—it barely fit in his whole hand. He moved his hand up and down her body for a few moments as if he was trying to find something.

He detached himself from her in frustration and looked at her outfit. The vault suit again. She normally wore something she considered to be more fashionable, or something that would better protect her in the wastes, but she apparently was going for comfort tonight. He grasped onto the zipper at the front of the suit and began sliding it all the way down to her waist, staring her in the eyes for the entire duration. 

“Turn over," he hoarsely, yet gently, commanded her.

Violet talked a hard game, he learned, but always did as she was told. He had her in the palm of his hand. As she turned herself around in front of him, he leaned down to kiss her shoulder blade. He left his lips there as he began to pull her suit down off of her other shoulder. He trailed kisses down her bare back as he pushed the sleeves down her arm… and then he bit down. Hard.

Violet yelped and jerked beneath him, much to John’s amusement. He laughed playfully as he rubbed the spot he had bitten, red and already welting.

“You fucking asshole.”

“Hey now, is that any way to speak to a mayor? Especially one who’s been so kind to you?” He pulled her vault suit further down her hips. “One who gives you free chems? And saves your sorry ass from raiders?” He stopped with her clothes and instead smacked his hand down on her ass, drawing yet another cry from the woman. “Aw, did that hurt?” he jabbed, before running his hand over the spot.

“Hey Mister Mayor,” she started, turning her head over her shoulder to look at him. “You’re stalling with this bullshit. Are you afraid you’ll disappoint me or something?” _That_ did it.

With both hands, he grabbed her by the waist and positioned her back onto her backside and began frantically removing the rest of her outfit from her thighs, down her legs, removing her boots in two swift movements and then pulling the suit away from her ankles. Her skin was littered with freckles of all shapes and sizes, sporadically placed across her body like a puzzle or a maze. She had a few on her face, but the majority apparently existed below her shoulders. He leaned down to kiss one on her collarbone, promising himself that one day, if she let him, he would memorize each and every one. While his head was near her chest, she ran her hands across his forehead and underneath his hat, letting it fall to the floor next to them.

Hancock smiled down at her and placed both of his hands over her breasts again, this time confined only by a very worn bra that appeared to be at least two cup sizes too small.

“My, you’re popping out of this, aren’t ya?” he provoked as he slowly massaged them in his hands.

“Finding undergarments that fit perfectly out here isn’t exactly a high priority of mine at the moment.”

He pulled down the cups so that they sat beneath her tits and ran a hand over one before pinching a nipple. The vault chick was very well-endowed, and John would be a filthy liar if he said it wasn’t one of the first things he ever noticed about her. He spent many a hazy stoned evening lying in bed trying to imagine what it would feel like to grab them in his hands and suck on them, to feel their softness against his scarred hands. He leaned down and began trailing kisses across her breasts, making sure to lay his mouth over each freckle that adorned them. He tilted his head and ran his tongue across her right nipple, then latched onto it. The act caused Violet to moan and stir beneath him, only turning him on even more. Hancock _loved_ turning his partners on, almost more than he loved getting off himself. As he kissed and sucked and nibbled her tits his hand slid down to her underwear, a finger teasingly sliding between her skin and panty line.

Hancock lifted his head to gaze down at Violet, intending to throw a smug one-liner at her before he moved on. But the sight of her laying there, her eyes wide and full lips parted, staring up at him with lust and desire painted on her face… It sure was a picture. Violet even found herself at a loss for words, unable to form a coherent thought as she got lost in the endless dark of his eyes. It was a moment they both had felt they had been waiting their whole lives for.

John leaned down to kiss Violet once more, this one gentler than previously, then tugged at her underwear, pulling them down her legs and setting them aside. He placed his hands on both of her knees as she opened herself to him.

“Well ain’t that a sight,” he breathed with a smile before tilting down to litter her hipbone with kisses. She was finally all his, and he had to make every second count, as this could be his only chance. Hancock once again made sure to place a kiss over each freckle that adorned her pelvis, though there were few over this particular part of her body. He trailed further down until he was faced with the heat of her dripping cunt. He felt himself becoming harder through his trousers as he breathed her in, and then flattened his tongue over her slit.

Violet cried out at the sudden contact, squirming beneath him. He let out a little laugh against her skin as he gave her a stroke across her lips. She tasted sweet and musky, with hints of salty sweat and metal. It was intoxicating. He lapped at her again and again, wanting to absorb as much of her into his mouth as he possibly could, wanting to forget himself, forget anyone other than Violet existed and to believe that he was merely an extension of her. He sucked her clit and rubbed it with his hand when he delved his tongue between her lips. He lifted his head to look at her. She was a sight, biting her knuckle, eyebrows fixed upwards, face flushed and cheeks rosy.

“You taste fuckin’ incredible,” he murmured as he lowered his head back down to her, pressing his face into her thigh. He suddenly slipped a long, thin finger into her and she gasped at the intrusion. He began working her as he continued licking her clit.

“Fuck,” Violet whispered as his finger pumped in and out of her.

He lifted his head for a moment to comment, “You’re already dripping for me.” With that, his head went back down to drink her in for a final few moments, though if it had been up to him, he would have stayed between her legs forever.

“You’re good at that,” Violet remarked, her voice a hushed and almost quaky whisper. Her words of appreciation were the encouragement he needed to go faster, curling his fingers deep into her as he rubbed her clit with his other hand and worked his tongue in between her folds. His dexterity was almost overstimulating, and she continued to cry out loudly as he nearly pushed her over the edge. Just as she thought she was close to cumming, she felt his fingers exit her and she cried out a pathetic “no” at the sudden emptiness.

 _Don’t worry,_ he thought. _We’re not even close to stopping._ John sat up on his knees in front of her, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. He offered his hand to her as she lifted herself up onto her elbows, and she took his fingers into her mouth. John groaned softly as she sucked herself off of him, staring him deep in the eyes as she did. She took care to savor every bit of it as she sucked on his index finger at an agonizing pace before moving to the next. While his middle digit was still between her lips, he leaned in close, centimeters away from her face.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek. “Hard. Is that what you want?” Violet shivered as he removed his hand from her mouth. She nodded quickly in response to his question. They were both drunk and high off their asses, but unbeknownst to one another, they had both wanted this for a very long time, sober or not. “I mean it,” he whispered, moving onto her ear. “I know we’re stoned, I don’t wanna make you feel like you have to.”

“No, I want to. Please.” With that, he bit down softly on her ear and squeezed her breast one last time. She shoved her hands underneath his crimson coat, pushing it off of his shoulders, and he let it fall down his arms and onto the floor. Before her hands could even reach his shirt, he interrupted by untucking it from his pants and speedily unbuttoning it. The undershirt fell to the floor as they kissed. He let out a groan into her mouth and bit down on her lower lip again. Violet’s hands fell to the top button of his trousers and she began unbuttoning him.

After unbuttoning his pants and before pulling his cock out of them, Violet broke their kiss and looked at him. With blackness covering his eyes, Violet never thought she’d be able to read reactions on him as well as she did. But since they began their intimacy, she noticed his expression had softened. He had become… needy, almost. Something lustful and dark and wanting and almost depraved behind his eyes. For a brief moment she wondered what color his eyes used to be and the way he must have looked at his partners when he was a human. But her thoughts washed away as she reached between the unbuttoned opening to his pants and felt his throbbing cock. No underwear. _Of course not_. She almost laughed at his predictableness, but instead pulled it out and began slowly stroking him with her hand. He leaned his head back and sighed as Violet ran her hand back and forth, caressing the head and almost tickling his shaft. She was in awe of how he felt in her hands. It wasn’t a surprise by any means, but in the past, Violet had wrapped her hands around plenty of men before and they all felt incredibly soft, even more so than the rest of their bodies. But every part of him was so ridged and scaly that she was taken aback by how smooth his cock was in comparison. Of course it was textured and ribbed but the way it felt in her hands… She couldn’t wait to feel him inside of her. 

“ _Fffffuck_ ,” he managed, as Violet brought herself to her knees in front of him. He almost wanted to grab her by the hair and slam her into the mattress and start ravishing her, but before he could even move her mouth was around his erection, nearly swallowing him whole. He let out the curse for a second time and dug his fingers into her hair, pulling at her hard. She moaned as she took him in her mouth again and again, finally wrapping her hands around his waist and grabbing his backside. “Jesus, that’s fucking good,” Hancock sighed, and although the sight of the vault girl naked on her knees in front of him sucking his cock was enough to make him completely intoxicated, he closed his eyes. The hands grabbing her hair began bringing her head forward to take him to the hilt. She nearly gagged when he pushed her all the way in, and he quickly reversed his decision by moving her back to his tip. John kept his fingers in her hair but let her set her own pace. She couldn’t quite take all of him in her mouth, but she removed a hand from his waist and used it to fill the empty space between his cock and her mouth. He wasn’t that large—no bigger than average—but her mouth must have been small or out of practice. He didn’t mind much, she still felt fucking incredible, and he couldn’t even imagine how much better her cunt would feel around him.

Normally, John would have reached into his discarded coat pocket for another container of jet at a moment like this. If he inhaled it right before he put in his dick, sex would feel fucking incredible. Everything was better on jet. They were still fairly buzzed from earlier, but John had an acquired taste for multiple hits at once. The Mentats were his favorite, but when it came to fucking, there was nothing better than feeling the fumes enter his lungs and feeling the world slow down as he thrust his hips into someone, or when someone thrust themselves into him. The way orgasms felt like they lasted for hours, the way he could feel almost every individual cell on his body as they had sex… There was nothing like it. But he didn’t reach for the canister this time. This wasn’t a quickie in the VIP room of The Third Rail with some drifter he had shared his drugs with, and this wasn’t some fling with a resident who would gladly exchange sexual favors for a hit of Psycho. This was Violet, and he had been fantasizing about what was underneath her little vault suit ever since he met her.

She was soon cradling his balls with one hand as she took him into her mouth over and over again, and Hancock couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed her by the hair again and lifted her up to face him, and they kissed once more. Sloppy and wet and hot and noisy and needy. He could taste himself in her mouth. He growled as he spread a hand around her ass cheek and grabbed her hard, tongue still shoved into her mouth. She noisily gave signs of approval into his mouth as they kissed, and he pulled away. John placed his head next to her ear again, hand still firmly planted on her ass, and his breath was hot and hungry on her face.

“Say you want me,” he whispered heavily. Violet moaned as she ran her hands across his back, fingers dipping into every scar.

“I want you,” she replied breathily. He bit down on her ear and she cried out again.

“What do you want me to do?” His grip tightened.

“I want you to fuck me,” Violet moaned. “Please, fuck me, I’ve been waiting for so long. Ever since the first time I laid eyes on you.” With that, he shoved her onto her back in front of him and pinned her to the mattress. 

“You’re fuckin’ sick, you know that?” He kissed her cheek. “You see a fuckin’ walking corpse and your first instinct is to fuck him?” He nipped at her ear and breathed into it again. “You, a perfect little smoothskin waltzing out of the Old World like you own the place.” He bit down on her neck. “But you ain’t any better than anyone else here. You’re fucking filthy.” He lifted his head to face her again. “I like ‘em filthy.” She was already shaking beneath him, physically reenacting an orgasm although he had barely touched her in the past several minutes.

“Please,” she begged once more in a soft whine.

“How could I resist a request like that?” he teased, and with that he hoisted himself up on his arms. He used a hand to guide his cock into her entrance, slowly. He guided his tip into her, and she tightened instinctively. They sighed in unison at the new sensation and he slowly began sinking the rest of himself into her.

Violet’s face was a picture—glistening with sweat and heat and her mouth open, eyebrows twisted up, staring at him as if he was the most important person on earth. When he buried himself to the hilt, she cried out and closed her eyes. He brushed some stray hair away from her eyes as he began rolling his hips on top of her, slowly entering her again and again. With each rock of his pelvis she gasped again and again.

“H—Hancock,” she choked out in a whisper. He dug his head into her shoulder, biting her neck.

“Call me John,” he hissed back into her ear. Violet shivered violently beneath him and clenched around his cock.

“John…” she moaned.

“Good girl.” Her stomach tightened with the encouragement—why was everything he said so goddamn _sexy?_ Even phrases and words and actions that had never turned her on before were arousing as fuck when he did them. Violet pushed her hips upwards to meet his and he grinned. “You been wanting to do this since you first laid eyes on me, huh?” He didn’t break his rhythm. “You see a ghoul stab a man to death in front of ya, and your first thought is you wanna jump his bones? Bet you were fucking soaked through your little vault suit standing there.” He bit her neck again and she cried out. She was too aroused to form a coherent sentence, let alone a coherent thought.  

“Please,” she could only beg as she dug her fingernails into his back. Fuck, those things were sharp. Her nails were jagged and uneven, usually bleeding around the edges and it hurt him in ways that drove him wild. He wanted to keep with the dirty talk and draw a few filthy words from her lips, but she was so goddamned _tight_ it took everything in him to not explode into her right then and there. With each push into her, she tightened around him again and again and her whole body was shaking.  

“You gonna cum for me?” His voice was in her ear again, hot and raspy. “I’ve been waitin’ to find out how it would feel to have you cum on my cock.”

Violet rarely came from penetration alone, but she had been so sex starved and he was so goddamn fucking skilled and sexy and attentive that those words alone were enough to push her over the edge. She began convulsing under him, nearly at her peak.

“Let go, cum for me. Cum on my cock.” Her entire spine shivered with his words and she let go right there as he was buried in her. Her pussy convulsed and tightened around him and she loudly cried out.

“Fuck, John, I’m fucking cumming, fuck, oh my god.” She was fucking _noisy_ when she came, that was for damn sure. Like she had learned everything she knew from blue movies. Hancock was sure that folks as far as Diamond City could hear her, and that turned him on even more. _He_ had done that.

As Violet came down, she raised herself up to him, clinging to his neck and nearly sobbing into his shoulder.

 

“That’s it,” he purred gently as he placed a kiss into her hair. _Fuck,_ Violet thought, _why did he have to be rough **and** gentle? Why did he have to be filthy **and** attentive?_ Most people she had been with were either one or the other, not both. John Hancock filled every category and she would have despised him for it if her head had not been so clouded with desire. John suddenly lifted his hands to grab her by the shoulders and he turned her around, back facing him. “Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered, and she followed though her legs were shaking and she could barely hold herself up since coming down from her orgasm. Nevertheless she stuck her ass out toward him and he guided his cock back into her entrance. This time Hancock wasted no time.

He wildly began pumping into her again, gripping her hips so tightly that it almost stung. The noises he made now were louder, almost scarier as he stretched her over and over, taking hold of her body for his own pleasure now. John removed a hand from her hip and smacked her ass, hard. Violet cried out in shock and jolted beneath him, drawing a grin from his lips. He did it again, noticing the red mark that was beginning to appear. He was close. He leaned down as he continued fucking her and bit the spot he had spanked, taking her skin between his teeth. He felt like he was going crazy.

It was as if they had both been made to fuck one another. The way her body welcomed him so freely, the way he fit into her perfectly, the way they both moved and moaned and shook together. The way they both had a talent for losing themselves during sex and stringing together whatever words came to the forefront of their minds—sentences that would make most people blush. They were shameless.

Hancock lifted himself over her as he continued, landing his head on her shoulder.

“I’m close,” he rasped into her ear, and she winced. Violet was experienced enough to tell when someone was about to finish, and from the way his rhythm started to sway she knew he was about to.

“Cum in me,” she begged, turning her head over her shoulder to look at him. “Cum in me, please, I want you to fill me up.” That was all John needed to slow his pumps as he spilled inside of her and she immediately felt his cock twitch and the warmth engulf her lower half. It was hot and came out in waves and it slightly burned her for reasons she could not identify. Maybe it had just been too long since someone had emptied themselves in her, or maybe it had to do with the radiation. The idea of him poisoning her with his cum turned her on and she felt strange about it.

After Violet had squeezed out every last drop from his dick, John slowly began moving himself in and out of her a few more times as he softened and came down from his peak. He finally removed himself from her and watched his cum spilled out of her and coalesce onto the floor. He moaned as he watched it slowly drip out as she readjusted herself to her back. She nearly collapsed onto the mattress, panting and spent. Hancock reached over for the pile of clothing on the floor and used his sash to clean up the floor. Violet’s eyes must have been closed or else she would have made some smart comment about his choice of cleaning tools. He didn’t mind, he had several other sashes back at home and besides he had pretty much fucked up every article of clothing he owned already.

After tossing the twisted flag back to the side, he crawled over next to her and placed his arm over her chest. She smiled as she held onto it, placing her fingers inside of his. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, softly. Violet rolled her head over to face him and sleepily opened her eyes.

“That was good,” she remarked, and he chuckled.

“I’ve definitely had worse.” He leaned forward to give her a quick kiss on the lips. He leaned over to his bag and his hand retreated with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He pulled one out and offered her the container. She graciously accepted. He flipped open the silver lighter and lit the end of hers first, then his own. They sat up in silence for a while, backs leaning against the back wall of the shack, smoke filling the air and their lungs. Violet broke the silence.

 “We should do this again.” She could feel Hancock suddenly tense next to her.

“Yeah,” he responded, distantly. Violet’s heart dropped into her stomach as she watched him reach for the ratted blanket that was rolled up against the wall. She could recognize rejection and disinterest from a mile away, but why was it happening now? Suddenly her mind was racing with paranoia and memories and his damn voice, the sounds he made when he came and the faces he made while he fucked her brains out. _Fuck._ He sucked his cigarette down far too quickly and tossed the butt out the window and although she wasn’t finished, she rubbed hers across the wood of the shack and tossed hers out in kind.

“Well, goodnight,” Violet quickly said, grabbing her side of the blanket and rolling over onto her side. She kept her eyes open, faced away from him, blinking back tears. The chems and the vodka had worn off, she had sobered up in no time once faced with the idea that they may never do this again.

She was shocked when she felt him shift over and drape an arm around her waist, elbows bending up towards her chest. He grabbed onto her breast and pressed himself against her back. He was soon snoring behind her, and Violet’s mind continued to wander. She knew what kind of man John Hancock was, but she didn’t expect him to be that way with her. She knew he wasn’t the type to be tied down, hell, he had probably fucked more than half of the citizens of Goodneighbor, plus plenty of the drifters who came in and out. He had standards, but they weren’t very high—you had to be an adult with a pulse who told him yes. He took pride in his sexuality, took pride in his experience and ability and willingness to try anything once.

She knew the type of man that he was, but not everyone he fucked had been traveling with him for weeks.

Not everyone he fucked had told him their secrets, had trusted him enough to cry in front of him. She felt like an idiot. She had, embarrassingly, fallen for many people like him in her past. But she didn’t think she would have been so stupid as to do it in this new world after she had changed so much. _Never mix love and wild sex,_ she told herself. The thought of falling for him now terrified her. He would never reciprocate.

***

Violet was aware that Hancock was a heavy sleeper, it came with the whole “being constantly hungover” thing. So he didn’t even stir when she slipped from his arms and quietly slid back into her clothing. She was grateful that she had a backup set of undergarments so she wasn’t running around without any, or in the soaked fabric she had been wearing the previous night. She stuffed her old clothes into the front part of her bag and decided to put on her jeans this time. She pulled her hair back up into a ponytail as she watched John sleeping soundly in bed. She felt a deep stinging pain in her heart as she watched him there, lips parted and not stirring. She wondered what he was dreaming about.

Probably someone else.

She bent down to grab her bag, then looked at his next to her. She reached into it and grabbed two of his jet canisters, plus a syringe of Psycho. He probably wouldn’t even miss it.

Not even giving him one final glance, she swung open the door to Hangman’s Alley and left him there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock wakes up to an empty bed and a hangover. It's not an unfamiliar scenario, but something about this time really gets to him. So it's back to Goodneighbor and self-destruction, the life he knows best.

John awoke a few hours later, rolling onto his back and running his hand over his eyes. His head was killing him (as it did every day upon waking) and his mouth was dry and chalky from the Mentats. He groaned and stretched as he awoke, noticing that there was something different but unable to put his finger on it quite yet. His mind was still fuzzy, and he was concentrating on the incoming migraine that was forming in his skull.

He groaned again as he rolled onto his side and muttered, “Head’s fuckin’ killing me, doll.” He reached his arm over to drape around his companion, but he was instead greeted with empty air. Hancock opened his eyes and discovered there was no one there. He sat up suddenly. “Violet?” he called, a bit louder in case she was outside. Maybe she had gone to fetch supplies or run some errands while he slept? Still wouldn’t have killed her to leave a fucking note or wake him up to tell him about it. He rubbed his head and crawled over to his bag, reaching for a fix of anything to get rid of his fucking headache and maybe clear his mind. He was sure he was just being paranoid, she wouldn’t abandon him like that. She wasn’t the type.

But he sure was.

His hands grasped around the form of a familiar small rectangular tin that he pulled out. The berry flavored. Good idea. He put two in between his fingers and placed them under his tongue. He swallowed them dry and leaned back. The berry ones usually made him think even more clearly than the normal ones, helped him solve problems and see things from a different perspective. He lay back down on the mattress with his hands behind his head and waited for them to take hold.

When they did, he didn’t feel much different. More focused and less hazy, headache dulled, but he was still nervous. He shook the thoughts from his head and decided to fall back asleep. Maybe he would wake up to Violet sarcastically berating him for sleeping in so late, or her blowing cigarette smoke or jet fumes into his face. Instead he woke up two hours later to more silence. He kicked the blanket off of him, perhaps a bit more violently than he intended, and dressed himself. He noticed that she had left nothing behind in the shack. No note, no items, nothing. Even the vodka bottle was missing. He felt heat rise in his chest. So that was it then? She used him as a quick fuck and was off?

It stung harder than he expected it to.

Hancock was used to one-night flings, sure. He didn’t mind them, hell he relished in them most of the time. He loved the lifestyle he had carved out for himself. Drugs, alcohol, sex, sleep, repeat. It worked for him and besides, if he didn’t get attached there was no chance of disappointment.

But something about this situation had been… Different.

***

She had stepped through the gate of Goodneighbor wearing that damn body-hugging vault suit and some shitty makeshift armor she had strapped over it. She had an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips that she must have been planning on lighting before she was interrupted by Finn. _Fucking_ Finn. He warned him about harassing new guests, but some people just couldn’t follow basic directions. He had been outside of the Old State House talking to Fahrenheit about some bullshit he’d long forgotten about when he overheard the argument taking place near the entrance. He heard a woman’s voice giving Finn hell about something or other. He looked over his shoulder and couldn’t help but be surprised by this doe-eyed soft skinned vault dweller’s tone. She wasn’t taking any of his bullshit.

He was impressed. 

But he had met women like her. Thought they could take on more than they could handle. Finn had shaken down stronger people for less. Plus, the two prominent scars running vertically down the center of Miss Vault Girl’s face were kind of sexy. Maybe she’d let him buy her a drink. So, he stabbed the motherfucker.

If it impressed her, it didn’t show on her face. Merely thanked him while she lit her cigarette and gave him the same kind of smartass smirk he was used to receiving from Fahrenheit.

She _did_ let him buy her a drink, though. Once she had divulged the vague details of her past and her mission to him, he was a bit taken aback. Vault dwellers were usually prudish and innocent enough, but someone who was actually from the Old World had to have been worse. But she didn’t flinch when he popped open the tin of Mentats and offered it over to her. In fact, she took it without hesitation, as if she had been used to sharing drugs with strangers who she had just watched stab a man to death in front of her.

And the way they got along, their playful fighting, the banter they shared, and even their serious conversations. They got along better than anyone else he had found himself traveling the wastes with, that was for sure. And she didn’t even bat an eye the first time she laid eyes on him or ask questions about the state of his body. Plus, she seemed to share his mindset. They were both looking out to end corruption and oppression, one bullet at a time. Not half bad.

***

Hancock left the alley after gathering up his things. He shut the door behind him and began the short trek back to Goodneighbor. He felt like his entire body was being crushed, and it wasn’t a bad trip. He hadn’t felt this shitty about himself in a while, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to be in his room at the State House and take so much jet that he would forget who he was.

His journey back home was easy enough, just a few raiders and greenskins to put down here and there. Nothing he and a little Psycho couldn’t handle. As he stepped through the gate he was greeted with the familiar faces of his citizens. He made his way around town to say hello to a few people and catch up with Daisy when he met eyes with a drifter.

The man was leaning against the wall of the Rexford, arms crossed, one foot pressed against the building. When John looked at him, the man smirked. There was something damned familiar about him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Hell, the man could have been anyone. A lot of people came and went through the place on a daily basis, and he liked to interact with as many as he could. Maybe he was someone who he had shared some chems with once. John walked over to him.

“Hey brother,” he started, “Haven’t seen you around these parts. Name’s Hancock, self-elected mayor.” The man raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t remember me?” His voice was flat and hollow. Hancock took a long stare at him, trying to place those brown eyes.

A lot of people had brown eyes.

“Listen brother, I see a lot of people come and go through here. Ain’t no disrespect to anyone if I don’t remember ‘em. Now how about you and I share a little drink and get to know each other?” 

“Really, Hancock? The VIP Room at the Third Rail, about three months ago?” He tilted his head. He fucked _a lot_ of people in the VIP Room. That didn’t narrow it down. “You said you would give me another ‘tour of the town’ the next time I stopped by. I’ve been waiting. You’ve been gone.”

John studied the man’s face for a bit longer, his fuzzy memories starting to connect. Dark long hair pulled back. He had grabbed a fistful of that hair while the man was between his legs. He had big hands, too. He remembered them grabbing at his ass and hips, digging into the grooves in his skin just as Violet had the previous night.   

“Fuckin’ hell… James, right?” The man’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“ _Now_ you remember. You sure know how to make a guy feel good.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he conjured up a cigarette from his pocket and brought it to his lips to light. “So, what, are you gonna give me another tour or what?” Hancock took his time to think about his answer while he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his own package of cigarettes. He placed one between his own lips and lit it carefully, took a drag and exhaled. Going from one fling to the next wasn’t necessarily a problem for him, oftentimes he had multiple people in the same day. But something about the sex he shared with Violet felt sacred to him, almost. Like he had to wait to follow it up with something, and it had to be good. John was always a man who had enjoyed sex. For his pleasure, for his partners’ pleasure, for fun, as an icebreaker, to have a good time. He wasn’t about to turn down this sure thing just because he was all torn up about some woman.

“Yeah, lemme show ya around the town for a bit,” he finally answered. “You familiar with my desk in the State House?”

Doors locked, limbs tangled, and skin was broken. Smoke filled the air and his lungs and he grasped and pulled at hair and let out throaty groans as he was bent over the couch with his face pressed against the cushions.

It was rough and dirty, the way he liked it.

***

Several days passed with no word from Violet. Hancock had heard rumors that she made it inside the Institute, but no one had seen or heard from her since. He was hoping to be there when she finally got that teleporter up and running. After all, who was with her when she took down that fucking Courser in the first place? The fact that she just up and left him without a word filled him with a mixture of sadness and rage and helplessness.

He hadn’t had a sober moment since she left.

Not that that was entirely on her, he often went through these extreme binges, washing down tablets and pills with booze and sex, shooting poison into his arm and filling his lungs with smoke and fumes. Sometimes everything else just fucking hurt and these comforts were the only things that could numb him.

He hated himself, even more than he normally did.

When Violet had told him that they should fuck again sometime, in that almost romantic tone of hers, he had been hit with a wave of shame and loneliness. He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t bring her into this world with him. He would go around and travel with her, sure. He would be by her side through everything, encourage her, support her as long as she did the right thing. He would even fuck her, in any way she wanted. But he wouldn’t be her lover or her romantic partner. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. He wanted to. But she was…

Well, she was Violet.

And he was himself.

John looked at himself in the mirror as he thought things over. He was alone in his room at the State House, coat and shirt on but unbuttoned and open, hat tilted until it was almost falling off his head. His eyes were sunken in and clouded, his ribcage was so visible he almost resembled a skeleton. Track marks ran up and down his scarred arms and his hands were shaking from the jet withdrawals.

If anyone else called him on it, he would be infuriated. He’d deny it vehemently. He wasn’t addicted, he knew what he was doing, and he could stop any time he wanted to, stock up on Addictol, be done with it all. He just didn’t want to. They felt too good. They felt better than anything.

But he was a junkie. 

He had been for a long time. Long before he turned ghoul. He wasn’t even sure how many years ago it had been, but it was a while. Definitely started in his teen years. It was his coping mechanism. If he didn’t want to feel something? Med-X or Day Tripper to cloud his mind. If he was in a bad mood, Mentats or jet would liven things up. He knew what he was, and he was no good for someone like her. She deserved someone who wasn’t a spineless piece of shit. Someone who didn’t have to fuck some random stranger bent over in a dirty bathroom stall just to feel alive for a night. Someone who didn’t pretend to be someone he wasn’t, someone who gave more than he took. Whoever it was, it wasn’t him.

He didn’t know how to love someone. It was cliché and stupid, but it was true. Every time he chased an idea, he would chase it to the ends of the earth. He would take hold of something and not leave until it came true. When he finally had it in his grasp, he would panic and run away. That’s how everything ended. Everything good ended with John McDonough running from it. It’s why he changed his identity, why he changed everything except the coping mechanisms. He had to run from himself, too.

He didn’t want to put her through that. He didn’t want to run from her. It’s why he acted distant after they both came. He always did that. He always played it cool after sex to let the other person know what he was about. He didn’t think it would be a problem.

And now she was the one running. From him.

And he deserved it.

So he buried himself in more vices, more alcohol, more drugs, more sex. More shoving his head between legs and squeezing his hands around their necks. More bruising and shoving and violent kissing. More using people, and more people using him. It was better for everyone that way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's left karma and kind comments on the first chapter and my other fics! :) I'm currently in the process of moving to a new city, so I've been a bit busy, but I promise to still find time to write this! Sorry that this part wasn't explicit, I promise the next chapter will be, lol.


	3. (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon returning from the Institute, Violet realizes there's only one person she wants to talk to. Lucky for her, he has plenty of ideas.

Violet returned from the Institute after three days. It wasn’t long, but it felt like it to everyone in the Commonwealth who was waiting for her return. There had always been someone posted outside of the teleporter in case it happened. No one was even quite sure if she even made it into the Institute. At this rate, enough time had passed that most had given up hope. Surely, even if she had made it inside, they had killed her already. Or the teleporter didn’t even work properly, and she just disappeared into nothingness.

Hancock wasn’t in the loop, but he had his own theories. He believed she truly had made it into the Institute, whether it was because he really believed she could or because he just wanted to believe she was still alive. Maybe she was never coming back. Or maybe she was back, but word hadn’t made it back to him because she didn’t want him to know. But sure enough, time passed, and she emerged one early morning, half past 4 A.M. Piper was the one on-duty at that time, though she had long since fallen asleep at her post, slumped over in the uncomfortable plastic chair, head resting in her hand and dreaming about going for a ride in one of those vertibirds she always saw buzzing around over her head.

When Violet’s body suddenly materialized seemingly out of nowhere, walking across the bridge to Sanctuary and over to the teleporter, Piper jerked awake and jumped out of her seat, prepared to fight whatever monster had decided to creep up behind her while she was so obviously standing guard and not sleeping. When she whipped around to see the vault dweller, she nearly screamed with excitement.

“ _Blue!”_ she exclaimed, nearly tripping over her own two feet as she ran across the street to embrace her best friend. “Oh my god! I can’t believe you escaped the Institute!” Her arms squeezed Violet’s shoulders so tightly she felt as if she might break. Violet laughed hesitantly as she gently wrapped her arms around Piper in return. “The things you must have _seen_!” she continued. “I mean, _Jesus_! I’ve been writing about them for _years_ and I still feel like I don’t know anything!” She broke the hug to see Violet’s face twisted in a pained half-smile, obviously forced. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she came to a realization. “Oh—oh god. What about your son? You did find him… Right?”

“My—my son, Shaun…” Violet’s voice trailed off as she came to terms with the bizarre and twisted reality that had become her life, and she let out a huff of a laugh as if she had heard something ridiculous. “He’s the _leader_ of the Institute.” Her eyes met Piper’s, to gauge her reaction, but she looked confused. “He was taken 60 years ago,” she continued. “He’s older than me.” With that, she laughed. “Can you fucking believe it?” The words came out quickly and impulsively. She wasn’t even sure she believed herself.

“Oh my god,” Piper’s voice shook, as her eyes lingered over Violet’s body, looking for any sudden signs that her friend had been replaced with a synth. Her skin was cleaner, her outfit was free from any staining… Maybe she _had_ been switched. “Blue, are you okay?” Violet shook her head.

“No,” she replied with a sheepish grin. “But I have to live with it, I guess.”

Piper’s eyes met Violet’s own, searching for a hint of what she could possibly be feeling. Piper had divulged so much personal information to this woman, and to her credit she had been nothing but respectful and kind to her in return. But she felt as if Violet hadn’t been entirely honest with her, although she had no proof to back up this theory. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somehow lying.

“So, your son, Shaun,” she began again, “is older than both of us?” Violet was silent, breaking eye contact with the journalist. She suddenly shook her head and retreated from the old foundation, stepping down and into the crumbling road of her old neighborhood. “Come on, Blue, talk to me,” Piper begged.

“I’m tired,” she replied, heading toward her house. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Pipes.” Piper frowned and sighed in frustration as she watched the woman saunter away.

Violet knew that, upon returning to the Commonwealth, no one would believe her story. What were the odds that the son she had spent so long searching for would instead be an old man running the very operation that had kidnapped him in the first place? Violet was known to bend the truth a little, but she would never lie about this. She pushed open the front door to the house she had once shared with her husband and baby many, many years ago and felt a blanket of melancholy drape over her body. She finally found her son, her baby, and yet she felt empty. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. She looked around her old living room for a few moments, remembering the television against the wall and the holotape player underneath the window… The pillows that her mother had sewn for them for their wedding. She had completely redone the place to better suit her surroundings, but as she stared ahead of her, all she could see was the old layout. Violet felt like crying for reasons she couldn’t quite identify.

“Miss Violet!” She nearly jumped in surprise as the outline of a Mr. Handy emerged from the hallway in the darkness of the house. “I was so worried about you, mum! We were all so anxious awaiting your return from the Institute! I felt as though I were waiting you to emerge from the vault again!”

“Codsworth,” she forced a smile for the bot as he glided to face her.

“I—I don’t see young Shaun with you, mum,” he added, voice dripping with apprehension. “Please don’t tell me… Bad news?”

“I appreciate your concern, Codsworth,” she began, placing a hand against his cold metallic body, “but I’m so tired. I’m going to sleep, and I’ll tell you the whole story later, okay?” With that, she walked past him down the hallway and into her room, ignoring the worried “mum?” as she left. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Didn’t want to explain this goddamned story to every single person she had ever met. Violet shut the door behind her and collapsed into her bed, pulling a sheet over her head and digging her head into her pillow.

She was surrounded by people who loved and cared for her very much, some of who were so wracked with worry that she wouldn’t come back that they tossed and turned the nights away. And yet, just as she had before the bombs, she felt… Detached and cold. She didn’t want to talk to them, any of them. They meant well, and she loved them, but she knew how their conversations would go. Apologizing to her and statements of “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.” At least Cait would stop at an “oh my god.” Violet felt more alone than she had in months. She could only think of one person she wanted to talk to—one person who she knew would really listen and not make judgements, not give her any bullshit, not pretend that they knew what she was feeling but actually really _felt_ it along with her. She felt a tear fall down her face as she remembered the last image she had of him, asleep in her bed in Hangman’s Alley, arm covering his eyes and chest slowly heaving.

_Fuck me._

***

A knock at his door awoke the mayor of Goodneighbor at noon. He rolled over and opened his eyes, and _fuck_ , his head hurt like hell. He grumbled something under his breath as he sat up, swinging his legs to the side of the bed and forcing himself to stand on wobbly limbs. He was getting far too old to down entire bottles of whiskey like that. And it probably didn’t help that he had chased it with a few shots of Psycho. Fucking Psycho always got him really fucked up. He rubbed his eyes and grabbed his red coat from the hanger next to his bed. At least he had the sense to put it away. As he put it on, he walked to the door and opened it. Fahrenheit.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she quipped sarcastically as she studied the wreck in front of her.

“Jesus, what is it?”

“It’s fucking noon, I had to make sure you didn’t finally OD and die in there.” The woman’s head tilted to look past the mayor and into a figure laying in his bed. “I didn’t know you had company.”

“Yeah, and we’re a little busy nursing hangovers here, so if ya don’t mind, if there are no pressing issues to attend to, I’d like to return to that.” She snorted.

“Good luck.” Hancock shut the door and turned back around to go back to bed. He wished he could remember the name of the cute little number he was sharing a bed with. He sat down and fished a jet canister from the nightstand as his mind raced. Laurie? Leslie? Lila? He filled his lungs and swung himself onto his back, staring at the young woman sound asleep next to him. She was younger than he normally went for, had to have been about 19 or 20, and she had short black hair chopped to her jawline. Her skin was tanned and her eyelashes were long, and as she slept her eyes twitched beneath her eyelids. She had been clumsy and amateurish, but he admired her eagerness and passion. Still, he was secretly hoping she would wake up soon so he could have the bed to himself, stretch out, and sleep off his migraine. Though he appreciated that she was a quiet sleeper.

Whatever her name was.

He reached into the nightstand for the Mentats to hopefully clear up his mind, then chased them down with another shooter of jet, just because he felt like it. And also his hands were shaking.

Another knock at the door. The girl didn’t stir— _Jesus_ she was a heavy sleeper—and Hancock groaned as he shuffled across the room once again, grabbing his hat from the coat rack and placing it on his head before swinging the door open.

Oh, _fuck._

There she stood, the familiar face of a woman not much shorter than himself, her perfect figure hugged by black jeans and a leather vest, auburn hair tied loosely behind her head and her shaggy bangs hanging over her forehead. She looked troubled and a bit frantic. And she was standing in his doorway while another girl slept in his bed. _Fuck._  

“Violet.” He wasn’t usually the type to show physical affection of the non-sexual variety, but a part of him wanted to tightly wrap his arms around her small frame, feel her breathing around him. Another part wanted to yell at her for abandoning him after one of his greatest nights in recent history, for seemingly no reason. Instead he went with her name.

“Can we talk?” She wasted no time with greetings, her gaze was pointed, words cold. She seemed changed somehow, though he couldn’t figure out why. She just looked… different. Perhaps it was the excess of black makeup she had applied to outline her hazel eyes, much heavier and darker than usual. Her lips were painted a darker color as well. Small changes, to be sure, but they seemed like intentional ones. Even the scars on her face appeared more prominent. Something was going on.

“Uh, yeah, just… Give me a second.” His quaking hand reached for the doorknob a few times before he got a good grip on it, and then he shut the door in front of him. Hancock turned to face the lump in his bed, mind suddenly racing and each worry sharper than the last. No matter how he got her out of here, Violet would surely see her. The thought of Violet being confronted with one of his sexual conquests was unacceptable to him for reasons he could not identify. It wasn’t like she didn’t know. During their travels, he had been approached by multiple people—caravan workers, transients, traders—who weren’t shy about bringing up the time they had together, however long ago it had been. And they weren’t exactly subtle about their desire for a repeat encounter. And he knew Violet was no better. He knew she was shameless about her escapades as well, on multiple drunken occasions perhaps giving him a bit too much information about the types of things she used to do with her past lovers. And he had his suspicions about Violet and Piper… The way the journalist looked at her and the way they spoke sometimes reminded him of the way he would talk to old flames who still held a torch for him.

But _she_ was the one who left _him_ that night. She had beaten him at his own goddamn game yet again, and maybe that was the reason he was so hesitant for her to come face-to-face with the reality of his promiscuity. He wasn’t against the idea of making her jealous, but he didn’t want her to think that he was trying to fill some kind of hole she had left inside of him.

Yeah, that was it.

John walked up to the sleeping girl in his bed and shook her gently, watching her eyes squint and flutter open as she awoke.

“Heh, rise and shine,” he began softly. “Sorry to wake ya, but it’s noon.” She didn’t say anything. “Ya know, I got… Mayoral duties to attend to. And all.” The girl frowned and slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“What the fuck happened last night?” was all she could muster as she pressed a hand to her temple. Her voice was scratchy but light. Hancock let out a laugh.

“I got no idea,” he admitted as he shoved his coat off of his shoulders and reached down for the undershirt that had fallen underneath the bed frame.

“My head hurts like shit,” the girl complained as he dressed himself beside the bed. She was mostly clothed, he noticed, wearing a fancy little purple dress that was wrinkled but somehow in one piece. He wondered if they even fucked at all, or if he had merely dreamed or hallucinated it.

“I know doll,” Hancock replied casually as he tied a sash around his belt loops, tying it a bit tighter than he normally did. Was he getting even scrawnier? “Look, I’m sorry to kick ya out, I swear I’m not usually like this, but I have some pressing matters to attend to.” He reached for the Mentats and offered her the box. “For the road, if ya want. An apology.” The girl took the tin from his hands carefully and began to stand up. “It’ll also help with your head,” he added. She looked at him, down to the Mentats, and then back up again. She looked like she had just woken up in an alternate dimension.

“My friend told me that you were like this,” she started as she opened the box and shifted some tablets around with her fingers. She smiled softly when she said this, and John looked at her quizzically.

“Like what?” She looked back at the chems and carefully placed one in her mouth.

“You know,” she answered evasively. “Being all handsome and dashing or whatever to get into bed with someone, then acting like nothing happened the next morning. Buying them off with drugs so they forget you’re a playboy and hit you up the next time they’re in town.” She shrugged. “I’m not mad, just saying.” She placed the tin in her dress pocket and turned back to the bed to search for something. Hancock stared at her.

“That ain’t how it is. Listen, I told ya I wasn’t trying to kick you out. I just have some important business to go over. I’d love to get stoned, sit and chat the day away, but I got work to do.” It was partially true. He had work to do, but he wasn’t sure that, even if he had the entire day to himself, he would keep her around. He couldn’t even remember her damn name, so how interesting could she have possibly been?

The girl finally found what she was looking for, grabbing her panties from in between the folded sheets and slipping them over her ankles from under her dress. Oh yeah, they were pale pink, and he suddenly remembered that he had ripped part of the lace from the edges and she had gotten cross with him over it. The Psycho made him aggressive.

“Like I said, I’m not mad,” the girl repeated as she slipped on her shoes. “And if I find myself back over here, I’ll probably fall for it all again. I’m just saying I know what you’re doing, and all the other shit I hear about you is an act.” He was hit with another random memory of her telling him she was the daughter of caravan folk who were passing by Bunker Hill. They were from somewhere outside of the Commonwealth… The Capital Wasteland? Somewhere else? All he could remember was her saying she wouldn’t be in the area for long.

The girl shrugged and made her way towards the door. She reached for the handle, but hesitated and then turned to face him, looking like she was reenacting a dramatic scene from some old play she had once seen. “By the way, my name’s Lisa. You called me Lily or something last night.” She said this as though she were completely unphased by this, and then turned and opened the door. She walked out without so much as a goodbye and he watched her head disappear beneath the spiral staircase. Violet’s head peered from beside the doorframe and he quickly turned away, putting his coat back on instead, followed by his hat. Hancock took a deep breath and whipped back around to face whatever hell was about to come for him.

***

Violet stepped into the room with her hands behind her back, looking uncharacteristically timid. He was waiting for her to say something about Lily—or, er, Lisa, but instead she leaned her back against the doorframe.

“Mayoral duties,” were the only words that came out of her mouth. His questioning gaze stayed locked on her for a moment before she added, “Do I count as the business you have to attend to this afternoon?” The nosy broad had overheard his goddamn conversation.

“I don’t think you have the right to be givin’ me hell about this after what you did to me.”

“What I did to you?” Violet folded her arms. “I thought I was giving you an easy way out. No strings, no hurt feelings, no bullshit. Isn’t that what you’re about?”

“ _No,_ it’s not.” John’s voice was sharp, and he felt his chest twisting into a tight knot. He didn’t have to explain his motives to her. “So why the hell are you here anyway, then?” She was quiet for a moment as she looked down at her boots, and when she replied she spoke into them.

“I went to the Institute.” She paused for a beat before looking up at him, noticing his expression softening. “And now everyone’s treating me differently. And I feel more alone than I have since I got here.” Her face was doing that thing it did on that last night in Hangman’s Alley, where she was furrowing her brow and blinking while focusing her eyes. Trying not to cry. “I feel like I did the night before the bombs. And I miss you.” There it was, she admitted it. Poor little Violet missed John Hancock, one of probably thousands who had spent one night of ecstasy with the man and immediately became infatuated. She didn’t dare make eye contact.

John was taken aback by the confession, though he didn’t let it show physically. “You missed me?”

“I know, okay? I know it’s stupid, and I don’t usually get this fucking stupid about people but I just… I just hoped that maybe we could talk, or something? About anything? And maybe forget that I took off on you like that? I don’t want to let go of a good thing, and I think I’m more emotionally prepared now, for anything, so I wouldn’t be opposed to a repeat performance, or several. I promise not to get romantically attached.” Violet finally looked up and fuck if the concerned and empathetic expression on his face wasn’t enough to get her stomach all tied in knots again. “I feel like a goddamn teenager. Talking like one too.”

“Hey, no hard feelings,” he lied with a shrug. “It happens. Sorry I made ya feel like you had to run from me. Usually I’m the one doing the running.” The last statement hit Violet like a sting. She knew he was the type, but to hear confirmation directly from him like that hurt her a bit more than she wanted it to. She knew she would have to push aside those feelings if she wanted to continue their partnership, though. She wanted to have a relationship with him, some combination of their playful friendship and the passionate sex they had shared. She knew she was going to have to suck it up and ignore her romantic desires if she was going to keep seeing him.  

“So,” she began, finally shutting the door behind her and walking towards the mayor, “I was hoping we could figure out some kind of apology from me to you.” Her feet took swift steps until the toes of her boots were pointed against his from his, their faces nearly level with one another. Her hands fiddled with the straps on her bulky Pip-Boy before she let it carefully drop to the floor. She smirked at him, that familiar smartass beam he had become so accustomed to during their time together. He impulsively grinned back, the same devilish one that embarrassingly made her heart skip a beat.

“I’m sure we can think of somethin’,” Hancock replied, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and bringing her in for a kiss. For the first time in too long, their lips touched, fused together as if they were designed to fit together. His hands roamed across her shoulders as he slipped a tongue into her mouth, the familiar taste of her coming back to him. He had spent many nights remembering the taste of her mouth and hoping to never forget it. Cigarettes and vodka and bubblegum, accompanied by the chalkiness of Mentats. The latter was stronger this time, and he figured she must have been using more. If he weren’t distracted by her tongue running across his teeth, he might have worried that it was because of him.  

Violet was brought back to that night in the alley as he bit down on her lower lip and she felt his rough hands caress her shoulders. She brushed aside the memories from that evening as she pressed her body against him, hoping to forget that she ever had romantic feelings for the ghoul. It was purely a sexual friendship, that was all it needed to be. John’s hands slowly wandered north now, bringing a hand into the back of her hair, nimble fingers curling through strands, loosening whatever style she had tried to accomplish at the top of her neck. His grip tightened suddenly, nearly yanking her head away from him as he prematurely ended their kiss. He smirked at her. If he was going to push down any feelings beyond friendship, he was going to have to use her like he used everyone else.

“Now if you really want to play this game,” he began, “you’re gonna play by my rules.” His voice was a low, deep purr and it sent a hollow and sharp tingle throughout Violet’s body. “Is that alright with you?” His hands were still in her hair, tilting her head up to him.

“Yes,” she replied, doing her best to accompany the statement with a nod, confined by his hand.

“Good girl.” He kissed her again and pulled her tighter still, rolling his tongue into her lips for a moment before releasing. “If you wanna tap out, just say so. No harm done.” Hancock released his hold on her hair and dove down to litter her neck with bites and kisses. Violet cried out, her hands tightly wrapped around his shoulders, as she felt teeth twist and pull and break skin. It was sharp and deliciously painful. John’s hands traveled south now until they were planted on her ass. He grabbed her tightly and pushed her in even more closely, grinding his arousal against hers. Violet moaned when she felt the familiar bulge through layers of clothing, aching to feel him inside of her again.

He released the kiss once more and held up a finger before moving towards his nightstand, opening the drawer and rummaging for a second. He returned bearing gifts in the form of two syringes, offering one up to her.

“Psycho,” Hancock explained, “diluted. Not as powerful as the shit you shoot up before fighting Super Mutants. Just enough to give you a little kick when you need it.” He grinned as she took it from his hands and held her arm out in front of her. He knew she used and abused the stuff to fight—he saw her many times pulling tightly on makeshift tourniquets before guiding the needle into her arm. He saw the look in her eyes after, her pupils dilated and almost flaming, and the way she would always run straight ahead at full speed afterward, running on pure adrenaline before destroying raiders or mutants or giant creatures. He was eager to know how that kind of excitement would translate into a more intimate situation. Plus, he hoped that by taking some more it would dull his headache. They stood across from one another, nearly simultaneously injecting the chem into their bloodstreams before tossing the syringes to the floor with a clank.

Then, he grabbed her by the arm, hard, and jerked her body towards his bed. He nearly threw her face down into the mattress, watching her jolt violently underneath him as he held her hands behind her back with one hand. The other hand reached for his belt loops, undoing the sash in one fell swoop. He then used it to tie her hands behind her back, watching the profile of her face bite down on her lower lip. As his hands were hard at work wrapping her hands up, he took this time to get a hard look at the small tattoo she had on the underside of her arm, normally covered by her Pip-Boy. He had noticed it a few times before, but he wondered if anyone else ever had. The black outline of three small flowers, he assumed to be violets, though he had never seen one in person, of course. It looked to be very professionally done, certainly pre-war, and he wondered why she always hid it underneath that bulky device. When he was finished tying her up, Hancock yanked her back up by her waist and turned her back around to face him. His hands reached down for her belt buckle, relinquishing it from her body and tossing it to the floor. He wasted no time before he unbuttoned and unzipped, pulling her pants down to her ankles, followed by her underwear.  

He didn’t even remove her clothing from her body fully before forcefully shoving a tongue into her mouth again. He then moved behind her to sit at the edge of his mattress. John pulled at her to move across his lap, and she readily fell into place by his control, her stomach laying horizontally across his lap. She could hardly move, feeling a bit like a prisoner in her own body, and it was exhilarating. Violet had almost forgotten how freeing it was to give up her body to a lover, and he was the best man for the job. As she lay there across his lap, she realized she could feel his own arousal through his pants and it excited her.

A hand ran across her bare ass as he taunted her.

“So, you wanna apologize, is that it?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice muffled from facing down. He grinned at her compliance and the lack of smartass remarks, though a part of him wished she would bring forward some of her attitude so he could berate her for it.

“I think I’d rather just punish you instead.” With that, a hand suddenly came down—hard—on her ass. Violet cried out in response, much louder than she intended to. Hancock laughed softly as he ran his hand over the red mark, then raised his hand and spanked her again. Once again, she yelped loudly in response. “You’re screaming so fuckin’ loud everyone in the State House is gonna be able to hear you.”

“Good, I want them to.” Her voice was dripping with lust and heat, much like his. He smiled, feeling his cock twitch, and smacked her again.

“You’re sick.” Another whack. “Comin’ in here, lookin’ the way you do.” _Whack._ “Practically begging me to bend you over my knee.” A final, resounding thwack of his hand drew the loudest scream from her mouth and left a large red splotch on her ass. Hancock laughed again as he ran his hand across the mark, satisfied with the physical proof he had left on her. “Wantin’ everyone in town to listen to the way I make you scream.” Her legs were shaking. Hancock wanted nothing more than to continue the torture, but his cock was throbbing through his trousers and he was aching to release himself. He reached down to take her boots off for her, following them with the pants and panties that had bunched up around her ankles. He then helped Violet to her feet, though she wobbled from the spanking and struggled with her hands being tied up. She looked at him with the familiar expression of desire, enhanced by the Psycho, bringing something heated and almost violent behind her face.

The way he looked at her then, as she stood in front of him, arms tied behind her back, legs wobbling and her face red, she could have sworn she saw something in him soften for a moment. Even though her mind was clouded with chems, she found herself looking for any trace of hope that he could feel the same way about her. She wanted to kick herself for it.

Before Violet could mentally berate herself for her emotions, a tongue was shoved into her mouth again, hands grabbing at her clothed breasts. As he bit down on her lower lip, he realized he should have taken her shirt off before he tied her up. He didn’t really think straight when he was high and horny. Tongues danced as Hancock reached into his pocket and pulled out his switchblade. He pulled his face away and held it up to her.

“How much do you care about this vest?” That goddamn lopsided smirk again.

“Not much, I can buy the same thing from Lucas the next time I see—” Violet’s response was cut short by the sound of Hancock ripping through the fabric with his knife. He cut through both layers of her top in two swift movements, proof that he had done this before. _Show-off_. He shoved the ruined material off Violet’s shoulders and immediately dove his head down to her tits and bit down, drawing yet another shout from her lips.

More twisting and biting at her breast until he was positive it would leave a dark mark, then he raised his head and pushed her onto her back on his bed. Hancock grinned as he positioned himself over her, then kissed her again. Each kiss was hot and heavy and wanting and it was almost painful how much they both enjoyed it, needing one another more than they could have ever imagined. He held himself over her, grinding his clothed hips into her, his erection rubbing against her clit. Violet moaned as she felt the crushing weight of both of their bodies pressing against her bound wrists, feeling them go tingly and nearly numb.

A groan escaped from her mouth when John trailed his palm down to cup her mound, pressing a finger gently against her clitoris in a lazy circle. He continued for a moment before lifting himself back up and shoving his coat off his shoulders, following it with his hat. He bent down at the waist and held her face in his hands.

“I could really use your mouth around my cock right now.” A shiver jolted her spine as she felt his breath against her face and she impulsively grinded her hips into the bed as she readied herself for him.

Long fingers then reached for the buttons on his pants, undoing himself and freeing his cock. He kept his clothing on as he yanked the woman up so that she was sitting again, and she began to regain feeling in her numbed hands. He moved forward, holding his member in his hand and brushed it against her cheek, laughing softly. He gently slapped the side of her face with it a few times, enjoying watching the way she would desperately try to move her head to face him, trying to catch him between her lips.

“You want it that bad, huh?” he teased, sliding a hand across his cock a few times. “You miss me that much?”

“I did.” Her tone was devoid of her usual snark, her statements straightforward. Truth be told, John missed that part of her, but he was too horny to think about it for too long just yet.

“Open up,” he instructed instead, and Violet obliged with no hesitation. With that, his hands grasped the back of her head again—hard—fingers tangled up in her hair and thrust her head forward to swallow him whole. The feeling of the full girth of him entering the back of her throat caused a slight gagging noise to escape the bound woman. He let out a small laugh at the sound, before slowly moving his hips back, removing himself until only his tip remained between her lips, and then thrusted himself back into her mouth, slower this time. “Fuck, that’s great,” he choked out, a raspy whisper as Violet ran her tongue across the underside of his erection. Hancock stood still now, allowing her to set her own pace, which she did eagerly. Bobbing her head back and forth to take him into her mouth over and over again, grinding her own hips against the mattress while she did, desperate for the feeling of friction against her heat. He was loud now, deep throaty groans, and he grabbed the hair still tied at the nape of her neck again and pulled her towards him. He did this a few times, controlling her, pulling hard as he felt the vibration of her hums against his cock.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” Hancock warned, slowing his pace and staring her in the eyes. “You wanna swallow for me?” He stopped then, waiting for her silent response. He knew she was as wild and debased as he was, and this particular action wasn’t an unusual one, but he didn’t want to make her do anything she wasn’t prepared for. He had experienced enough uncomfortable situations himself to know he didn’t want to put anyone else through that. Violet nodded as a reply, though she was careful to not graze him with her teeth when she did. John smirked at that, running a hand through her hair softly this time. “Good girl.” His hips thrusted forward once more, at a much faster pace than before, and he clutched at her head again, bringing her forward to meet him with each movement. He shut his eyes and leaned back his head as he inched closer and closer to orgasm, removing one hand from her head to reach into his back pocket for a hit of jet. He had perfected his timing through countless chem-fueled sexual encounters, and now was about the right time to inhale. He brought the inhaler to his mouth and breathed in. Fumes filled his lungs as he let the canister drop to the floor, and when he breathed out, he came, and his entire body pulsed in ecstasy. 

His warmth slipped down her throat and she drank up every last bit of him, too ready for her own turn to really savor his taste. Once both the preliminary high of the jet and his climax had worn off, John removed himself from her mouth and smiled down at her. Her dark makeup was smudging down her face to her cheekbones, her lipstick ending up smeared around her lips, and around him. Her hair was a wreck from his yanking and pulling, falling out of the bun she usually wore. She looked like a wreck—she _was_ a wreck--but she was gorgeous. Hancock wanted to tell her she looked beautiful, wanted to scoop her up in his arms and make her feel as wonderful as she had just made him feel.

But he soon remembered their game, and the things she had said to him. He couldn’t let her get attached, and he couldn’t let himself either. So instead he bent at the waist and held her face in his hands, kissing her deep, her usual taste awash with his own saltiness. When he broke, he put on his usual performative smirk.

“What a good girl you’ve become,” he teased, trailing a hand down to palm her breast. “Almost makin’ me forget why you’re being punished in the first place.”He reached behind her to unwrap her bound wrists as they kissed, nearly perfectly. She moaned into him as a response, wrapping her freed arms around his shoulders. Hancock lifted his head to look at her again, suddenly getting lost in her gaze, still riding through the combination of his orgasm and his high. “In fact, I think I’ve decided to forgive ya.” Violet’s gaze didn’t turn from Hancock’s, and the feeling of her eyes on his sent a shiver up his spine, for some reason. He had many thoughts about the woman sitting in front of him, many of them untoward and “impure”, as he had previously described them. And maybe it was because the Psycho had just worn off and he was getting emotional, but he found himself suddenly overcome with the desire to make love to her. He hated the phrase, but there was no other way to describe it in his brain. He had not performed such an intimate act with anyone in a very, very long time, and for good reason. It was more fun to fuck freely, not have to worry about being tied down, all that shit. But with Violet, Hancock found himself missing the feeling of being so close with someone. And he had been more intimate with her than he had with anyone else in a very long time.

For starters, he trusted her enough to confide in her about his past, his little-known secrets he was good at pushing down and hiding behind the façade he had spent so long crafting. Then there was the indisputable fact that their bodies matched each other perfectly, their rhythms corresponding and everything with her just felt so… _right._ Maybe the Mentats were causing his mind to become _too_ observant to the current situation. 

_Fuck it._

Hancock gently pushed Violet onto her back and kissed her deeply, breathing in her scent and taste, feeling the warmth of her body beneath his, the softness of her skin. The way she kissed him back confirmed his decision was the correct one. It was the same feeling they had shared that first night in the rain, the fervent and wild eyes, the desperation of every action, as if they would both lose one another immediately afterward and had to make every second count. Violet lifted her hips up to touch his, grinding her pelvis into him and groaning between his lips. Her hands reached underneath Hancock’s shirt, running up his stomach, past his nearly exposed ribcage, to his chest. The warmth of her hands against him produced a soft vibration from his vocal cords as he lifted his lips from hers to look at her again.

History repeated itself as Hancock held himself up with his arms, floating above the woman, originally intending to do something. Yet again, he couldn’t remember what it was. Maybe he was going to dirty talk her, maybe he was going to ask a question. The idea vanished as he lost himself in her, just as he had the first time they shared together. Violet continued running her hands across his chest, attempting to push his shirt up as a hint to remove it. He obliged, lifting himself and pulling it over his head, looking behind him as he tossed it to the floor. John then reached for his nightstand stash, afterwards presenting her with a hit of jet. Violet took the canister between her fingers and held it to her mouth as she lay beneath him, her loosely tied hair splayed around her head like a fucking halo, her makeup running down her face, her neck and tits littered in both her freckles and his tiny bruises and bites. He breathed in his own hit, letting the inhaler fall to the floor with the rest of their things, never turning his head away from hers, even as the first wave of intoxication clouded his brain, his eyes, his mind. She followed suit, placing the mouthpiece between her lips and sucking in the fumes, letting it fall next to her when she had emptied it. Viewing her in what felt to be slow motion was almost as much a religious experience as fucking her was, watching each and every heave of her chest as she breathed, watching the fumes escape her mouth when she exhaled, letting the vapor enter his own mouth for an extra kick. He carefully lifted one ruined hand to her cheek, his thumb grazing her lower lip. Hancock felt as though he were in contact with every single skin cell that formed her body. She slowly opened her mouth to his thumb, allowing it to enter her before she closed softly around him, sucking on his finger as she grinded her hips against his exposed erection again.

He wasn’t sure where the fuck this particular batch came from, but fuck it was stronger than usual, and he knew they both felt it. Every miniscule action she made against him had some kind of purpose, a meaning, and he could feel them breathing in synchronization. Their bodies were perfectly attuned to one another. There was no denying that. He leaned down to kiss her once more, allowing her to remove his thumb from her mouth as he slowly slipped his tongue into her mouth. They danced slowly, lighter than normal, as if they were merely experimenting. Each tumble of their tongues felt entire new to both of them, as though this were their first time kissing anyone. They both savored every moment as they explored the other’s mouths, only moving their bodies after several long moments.

Whatever Violet had been doing to try to not feel the way she did about him, it wasn’t working.

But she was too high from the chems and her own arousal to care.

He didn’t seem to care much, either.

 

When their kiss ended, John stood up to finally remove his pants from his body, pulling the waistline down his legs, stepping out of his boots, kicking them and his pants to the side before leaning over the woman again. His fingers grazed her tits for a moment, grabbing one with his hand and rolling it around as his tongue travelled through her mouth once again. He wanted to absorb her skin into his, to meld his hand with her breast, to feel nothing but her against him for the rest of eternity. John had never been one for monogamy, but he was suddenly struck by the idea that if he could only have Violet for the rest of his life, he would be more than fine with it. 

He wished he didn’t feel that way.

Hancock suddenly brought the kiss to an end and lifted himself from Violet’s body, crawling onto the bed himself and pulling her towards him as he lay on his back. Their lips touched briefly before pulling away. 

“I’ve been thinkin’ about havin’ you ride me all week,” he whispered into her ear as she straddled him, her hands pressed to his chest. She almost dissolved over him, and a part of her wished she had. She had been thinking the same thing. Violet lifted herself onto her knees above his erection, carefully taking him in her hand and guiding him into her entrance. She gazed at him as she sank into his cock, bringing a heated and heavy groan from his lips as he felt her cunt swallow him whole. He brought a hand to his face and bit down on a knuckle as he stared at her. Somewhere down the line he had switched places with her, or maybe they were on the same level. Either way, he had dropped the dominant act and felt overwhelmed with his passion for this woman. She began to slowly bounce on top of him, grabbing onto her own breasts as she sank into him again and again. Hancock’s hands went for her waist, his fingers digging into her hipbones as he helped her craft her rhythm, their moans and movements morphing into one being of lust and euphoria and disaster.

It was trite, the idea of sex bringing two bodies together as one. But they both felt it. 

Soon Violet was sweating, bucking her hips desperately and repeatedly against him, her walls clenching his member and her hands pressed into his chest. She came with a loud cry, tossing her head backwards as her grinding slowed, and the sight and feeling of her release was enough to push him over the edge for a second time. Nowhere near as powerful as when he had filled her mouth, but enough that she could feel the  warmth of him shooting into her as she came down from her own peak. Violet collapsed forward onto him, resting her head on his chest as she caught her breath. He ran his fingers through her hair again, and she found comfort in the feeling of his chest heaving up and down in time with her own.

They looked at one another again, and neither of them had to say a word to convey the way they felt. They both felt it and couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard they tried. It was a bad idea, they both knew, to keep doing this, if they were trying to avoid their emotions. But in that moment, her body resting on top of his, face level, that look in their eyes…

They didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like no matter how many times I edited this part it always ended up being a little choppy and misguided for some reason. Ah, well. Thanks for reading. :)


	4. (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're in too deep now.

The two lay there, tangled in one another, as they came down from the jet and their orgasms. John came to first, of course, considering his tolerance from the years of abuse and his ghoulification. His vision was unclouding, his thoughts becoming clearer in his mind. The idealistic side of him was washing away and he was soon faced with what he had just done. He sharply inhaled as he moved a rough hand across her back, feeling her shift against him as he did. Hancock said nothing, was silent as Violet lifted herself from him, opting to lay next to him instead. He wondered what her sobriety level was, if she was still riding high or if she was on his level, full of regret and self-hatred. He couldn’t tell from the way she stayed there, nearly emotionless as she ran her arm across his chest and down to his stomach. She wordlessly explored each divot of his skin with pale fingers, examining each section of exposed muscle and the remains of his peeling skin. She wondered what had happened in her life to make her attracted to someone like this without a second thought.

He brought his own hand to hers, their fingers intertwined as he brought them up to his lips to kiss each finger individually. She sighed as he savored the softness of her skin once more, and when he released their hands, he reached over to push away a strand of hair that had fallen across her eyes.

It was wrong, what they were doing. They would make a complicated and fiery and messy couple. He hadn’t been in a relationship in years, not since he was quite young, and for good reason too. They both had issues too complex to navigate, both were too passionate—bordering on obsessed—about one another for it to ever be healthy, too similar to one another, too impulsive. And he was sure that in order to be in a relationship, one had to be able to fuck while sober. 

Perhaps the forbidden aspect was why it was so intoxicating to both of them. It wasn’t right, wasn’t healthy, had no chance of ending well for either party involved. Maybe that was why each touch of their bodies was electrifying, why the meeting of their lips felt like the start of the greatest jet trip, why moving in her and each rock of their hips was a religious experience. Maybe that was why she looked more beautiful to him than anyone he had ever seen, why sex with her felt more incredible than the countless others he had shared himself with. Maybe the fact that he wasn’t supposed to feel this way, why he wasn’t supposed to lose himself in her and absolutely worship every inch of her, was why he did.

John Hancock was always a man who enjoyed his vices.

His hand still rested on her face from adjusting her hair, and he gently traced down to her jawline, thumb rubbing against her as she closed her eyes, before trailing it up to her nose. From there, Hancock cautiously ran a finger to the left of her nose, slowly moving it up to outline the deepened scar that existed there. Violet didn’t shift with his action, so he moved to the second scar, a bit further to the side, beginning at her forehead, running down her eyelid, and ending at her cheekbone. They weren’t too fresh, but they were certainly newer additions to her body, and he could still feel the dimples they left in her skin. Hancock found them beautiful, thinking they enhanced her facial features. Her exterior perfectly reflected her inner self. Beautiful and damaged. Violet’s eyes suddenly opened as he was contemplating.

“You like ‘em?” she teased softly. He smirked in response.

“’Course I do.” 

“Got them from raiders.” Her expression didn’t change, she merely closed her eyes and left the statement at that.

“Got mine from chems,” he quipped back, lifting himself up on an elbow and holding his head up with his free hand. She let a laugh escape from her lips and shifted her legs a bit.

“I used to be so vain about my appearance. If I had these back in the day, I would have lost my fucking shit. But I think they complement me pretty well.”  

“Couldn’t agree more.” His hand traveled down her shoulders to the silhouette of her hips.  

“I really meant what I said the last time we were together,” she added, involuntarily jerking her waist at the surprise of his touch. He cocked his head quizzically, not quite knowing what she meant. “About how I felt like I belonged… Here. In this world. And what I was thinking about that night at the bar, about just up and leaving, reinventing myself and starting over. I feel like I’m becoming the person I always wanted to be.” He breathed in deeply, then let it go as he ran his hand up her body again. “It’s stupid but I’ve never been satisfied with who I am.” She shut her eyes again, focusing only on the coarse hands traveling up and down her figure, wanting to forget that his limbs were separate from her, wanting to believe that they were the same ethereal and mythical being.

“I feel you.” His words were soft and deep and accompanied by the lightest of touches to her shoulder.

“Maybe this is the way it was always supposed to be,” Violet continued, extending her own arm to drape around Hancock’s shoulder. Their foreheads pressed together, and she sighed theatrically into him, followed by a faint self-deprecating laugh. “I’m too fucking sober right now.” Now it was John’s turn to laugh in agreement as he lifted himself up and reached for the nightstand stash. Violet opened her eyes and held herself up on an elbow, watching him deliberately sift through his paraphernalia, his perfectly scarred and burned back exposed to her. She sighed, softly this time, as she felt a heavy weight in her chest. She thought she was above the naivety of her current situation, thought she was too experienced and smart to get tangled up in a mess like this again. But here she was, watching him dig through a drawer of drugs so they could get so fucked up they couldn’t remember they were all wrong together.

“What’cha in the mood for?” he questioned, hands still sifting. “I got pretty much anything you can think of.” She snorted.

“ _Any_ thing?” She thought back to her past, the days when she was a cabaret singer as opposed to a mother, when she felt almost as good as she did now.

“Pretty much.”

She contemplated. “Cocaine?”

He stopped. “The fuck is that?”

“Pre-war drug, felt fucking incredible, expensive as hell. Ah well, it was worth a try.” She contemplated for a moment, attempting to discern which chem would feel most similar to the kind of high she was craving. “I’ll start with the Mentats.”

“A woman after my own heart,” Hancock found himself relaying before he could think. _Ugh._ He grasped the tin and, turning, offered it to her, which she graciously accepted. She gathered up four tablets—twice her usual dose—and placed them in her mouth as she watched John pick up a canister of jet and shake it to discern if it was empty. It wasn’t, so he puffed.

“Do you have Jet Fuel?” Violet questioned as she watched fumes escape his mouth and the part of his face his nose used to occupy. His eyes were closed, and he was leaning against the back of the bedframe. He heard her, but the words were still spinning around in his head very slowly. Each syllable came to him in sluggish waves, his mind working to comprehend them as they arrived. He could feel every vibration in his eardrums. Violet patiently waited for him to come to, watching every subtle jolt of his face as he experienced his high, noticing the way the corner of his mouth twitched and the slight movement of his jawline. His eyes opened slowly but surely, and he turned his head to her.

“Jet Fuel, huh?” Hancock thought for a moment, attempting to go through a mental list of all his chems in every stash he had hiding around. There were too many to be sure, plus his mind was clouded. He turned back to the nightstand and rummaged through the drawer. He picked up several jet inhalers to study the canisters, see if there was any indication as to which variety was which. Violet’s eyes watched his hands sift through his stash, noticing the skillful way his fingers clasped to each chem, appreciating his agile extremities and their many talents. He squinted at the handle of a particular canister and noticed someone had scrawled some sort of label onto it. “I think this might be it,” he guessed as he tossed the inhaler Violet’s way. She caught it perfectly between her own hands. “Dunno if there’s more where that came from or not,” Hancock admitted, bringing a new canister up to his lips for another hit. “Most of my shit’s Ultrajet. They all hit ghouls pretty much the same way.” He puffed and leaned his head back as Violet tried her own.

As soon as the vapor hit her lungs, the jet hit her like a train. Her vision went black and starry and she could feel her head uncontrollably slam against the headboard. There was a slight sting at the back of her skull that translated to more of a delightfully tingly sensation. She couldn’t tell if her eyes were opened or closed, but her vision slowly came to—blurry and unfocused and soft. Violet lifted her hand in front of her face and it came into view in slow-motion, inch by inch until she was faced with the full view of it. She could feel every molecule in her body.

“I can feel my fingernails.” It wasn’t her decision to speak, her intoxicated body forced the words out of her vocal cords and Hancock laughed uproariously.

“Wish _I_ could get that fuckin’ high again.” He shook his head as he reached over for the cigarettes on the end table, lighting one between his teeth as he waited for his companion to sober up enough to understand her surroundings.

After a few moments of slow-moving room spinning and the feeling of every cell in her body, Violet’s vision re-focused and though she was still riding high, she was able to distinguish her surroundings and situation.

“Holy fuck,” she laughed, rubbing a hand to the back of her head.

“That a good one?” John teased as he reached over to ash his cigarette into the cracked ashtray.

“Yeah, remind me to never underestimate wasteland chems again.” She laughed once more, though as her mind cleared the pain at the back of her head became more prominent and annoying. “Did I hit my head or something?” He snickered again as he handed her a cigarette.

“Pretty hard.” She placed the stick between her lips and allowed him to light it for her, once again focusing on those bony fingers and the way they moved across the flint wheel, noticing each exposed muscle hard at work. She ached to feel them against her again, though they had only just stopped. Her gaze strayed from his hand up to his bare arm, his lanky shoulder, to his neck and finally to his face once again. His lopsided grin returned as they locked eyes and he pulled the lighter away. They were silent as she took a drag of her cigarette, eyes still on one another and not drifting for a second, even as he turned his body to the side to return his lighter and pick his own cig back from the tray. No words were spoken, only breaths and smoke and sighs and Violet scooted her body in closer to his, longing to feel his warmth against her. He allowed it, placing an arm around her shoulder as he finished off his smoke. He had long accepted his fate at this point, knowing the best decision would have been to just fuck and leave, but if he was going down, he wanted to go down with Violet.

Violet pushed back a smile as she exhaled smoke into the air, curled up against his warm and scarred body, feeling his hand run up and down her shoulder as they sat in silence. Her body was slightly achy from being roughed around, but it almost hurt her more how gently he treated her afterward.

She finished her smoke and handed it off to Hancock, who disposed of it in the ashtray along with his own. She impulsively pressed a hand against his chest as she curled herself even more closely into him, aching to dissolve into him. He held her tightly in his arms, running hands over her body and _fuck_ , she was so fucking _soft_ he almost found the dichotomy between their bodies humorous, but he was too busy tracing outlines of circles into her arm, hating himself for wishing he never had to leave. One hand traced down her arm before gracefully lifting it by her wrist and rotating it, the black outline of flowers facing the ceiling.

“I like this,” he purred softly, stroking the tattoo with slender fingers. Violet sadly half-smiled in response, extending her arm so he could get a better look. “Why’re you always hidin’ it under that Pip-Boy?”

“It’s not finished,” she lamented, chest tightening at the feeling of his fingers lightly dancing over her skin.

“Violets, right?” He moved his hand down to clasp her hand in his, running his thumb over hers.

“My favorite flower,” she replied with a laugh, squeezing his palm.

“Can’t imagine why,” he joked with a small chuckle, lifting his face to look at her again. Hancock watched the corners of her darkened lips twitch upward into an almost mischievous smirk in response.

“You know, my name’s not really Violet.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious.”

“Well what’s your real name?”

“Rachel,” she responded with a snort. “Always hated it. I don’t know why but the first time I introduced myself after I got here, I said it was Violet. Even reprogrammed Codsworth. Just felt right.” They locked eyes again, two people who, on the exterior, could not have looked more different—but were both the same underneath. Born to be someone else, always craving to be a person who was just out of reach.

“Well my name’s not really Hancock,” he joked back, nudging her with his shoulder.

“You’re fucking with me.” They laughed together, hers ringing in his ears like a fucking bell, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

Well, next to hearing her say his name while he was reaming her.  

He let out a sigh as Violet brought herself in closer to his body, running his fingers through her hair, untangling the mess he had made of it, relinquishing it from the hair tie she had hastily thrown together. He felt more comfortable than he had since the last night they had spent together, and it felt like someone was driving a knife through his chest when he realized it. She was his perfect counterpart—a beautiful wreck of a human who never knew what she was doing but always knew what she wanted, always doing her best but always fucking up and always getting less than what she deserved. She was his better half.

She didn’t deserve to be relegated to that. 

***

About an hour passed before they even realized they had been dozing, awaking in a fuzzy haze in one another’s arms, scarred and rough skin pressed against softness. He tilted his head to face her and though he could feel the faint echo of a headache forming in the back of his head, he felt better than he had in a while. With a brain still clouded by the chems and the headache and his own damn thoughts rushing around he didn’t have time to think before he heard words escape from his lips as he watched Violet’s eyes flutter open to look at him.

“Heh, mornin’ sunshine.” _Fucking goddamn shit. It’s not even morning._  

A deep twinge of sadness hit her in the gut along with the nickname. First came the fucking, then the sweet talk, then the arguments and the fallout and the abandonment.

“Kinda late for that,” she whispered back instead, disguising her voice with her usual sarcasm. He grinned in response, giving her body one final tight squeeze before sitting up. She watched as he once again reached over for a Mentat or two, gathering the courage to lightly brush his back with a finger, then her hand, running over each crease of his ruined flesh. She heard much talk from wastelanders about ghouls and their ugliness, how they were too hideous for the lovely citizens of Diamond City to even look at, had to listen to traders passively discriminate in conversation. The consensus was that those who were unfortunate enough to experience the transformation were hideous, and best left to their own kind.

Violet found him more beautiful than anyone else she had ever met.

She sat up, stretching a bit and graciously accepting the little red tablet Hancock was presenting her in-between those bony fingers of his.

“So, I’m supposed to head out and find some password for the Railroad,” she began after popping the chem in her mouth. “And I was thinking I could really use your smartass comments on the road. If you’re still up for traveling together.” The crooked grin crawled across Hancock’s face, overcome by a blanket of relief. He had missed her more than anything.

“Well, I s’pose the people of Goodneighbor can take care of themselves for a few more weeks.”

“I was planning on heading out tomorrow, if you can.”

“Now you know I’m just _swamped_ with my mayoral duties,” Hancock chuckled.

“Oh, and what do your ‘mayoral duties’ consist of? Fucking all your citizens? Jacking off on the balcony at 3 A.M.?” His smile dropped and he cocked his head.

“Wait...”

“Yeah, I saw you. Multiple times.” Silence, and then something in his chest tightened at the idea of Violet playing the sexual observer, keeping it a secret from him all this time.

“Well, well, well,” he teased, a different smile forming on his damaged face. “When were you planning on telling me about this, exactly?”

“Figured you knew. I can’t imagine any reason you’d be up there unless you wanted an audience. First time I saw you was my first night here.”

 

She smiled at the memory, remembering how she had stepped out of the Rexford, unable to sleep and craving some fresh air. Stepping past sleeping drifters, she nodded at some of the Neighborhood Watch who had taken to playing cards on a rickety old table outside the hotel. Violet had then walked westward, coming to a halt when she noticed a figure on the balcony of the State House. The silhouette of the figure’s headwear gave her an indication of who it was. She had stepped back, behind the old building that faced the balcony, peering out from behind the corner to get a better view of the man she had found so intriguing during their first meeting.

He had been sitting, his feet kicked up and resting on the railing, face only illuminated by the burning embers of a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. A few empty beer bottles decorated the barrier next to his feet, and though he was fully clothed she noticed the slow and lazy movements of his hand in his lap. She had stayed there for longer than she intended, watching as he brought his feet down, giving her a better view of the unmistakable image of the mayor of Goodneighbor pleasuring himself where anyone could walk by and see. Though she still couldn’t make out any details, she found herself excited and interested watching him in such an intimate and performative moment. She had stayed until he had finished, feeling the familiar throb in her pelvis and longing to see the face he made as his entire body shivered.

She had returned to her room in the Rexford immediately afterward, swiftly locking her door and relieving her built-up tension while imagining what those hands would feel like on her.

 

Both the ghoul’s smile and his eyes widened, feeling himself growing hard beneath the blanket.

“You really _are_ fuckin’ sick,” he growled, moving his body on top of hers. His arms pinned hers to the headboard. “So tell me, what did ya think of the show? Did it elicit a… _physical_ response?” Her chest heaved with every breath on her face.

“It did, I watched the whole thing.” Hancock laughed.

“Uh-huh,” he grinded his hips against hers as he grasped both of her wrists. “And what were you thinkin’ about?”

“I was thinking about what your hands would feel like on me, on my tits, my waist, wrapped around my throat…” A shuddery sigh came out of him at her final declaration, tightening his grip on her.

“Yeah? What else?” His hips drove into hers again and she moaned.

“I was thinking about how I wanted to see your face, see your cock up close, do all the dirty things we’ve been doing.”

“Mm-hmm, and what did you do about it?” He removed a hand from her wrist and dragged it down her arm to the crook of her neck, lightly teasing her skin.

“I locked myself in my room at the Rexford and touched myself, imagining it was you.” He dove his head down into her collarbone and bit down gently.

“That’s a girl,” Hancock purred into her, “a shameless and dirty voyeur.” He ran his hand down to one of her breasts and squeezed it between his fingers as he dragged his teeth across her collarbone again. Knowing that she did this for him, after the many nights he had spent with his hand hard at work around his cock while he imagined those pretty lips of hers wrapped around him was almost too much for him to bear.  

“It was nothing compared to the real thing,” she whispered back shakily, moving her free hand to caress his head.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” He kissed her, roughly, shoving his tongue into her mouth without a second thought and bringing his hands down to squeeze both of her tits. She realized she could taste the slightest hint of whiskey at the back of his throat. As their kiss deepened, he realized he hadn’t left his bed all day, and he was more than happy about that. At least Violet was more fun than What’s-Her-Face. “Now, why don’t you show me what you did in your little hotel room that night?” There was fire in his eyes and she shuddered a sigh as she straightened up her posture and opened her legs to him. Hancock maintained his position hovering over her, releasing her captured wrist and keeping his hands pressed against the headboard above her.

Violet’s hand traveled between curly dark hair and began rubbing lazily into her heat, maintaining eye contact until his eyes moved to watch her busy fingers. Large and slow circles became hard and fast tiny ovals against her clit, finding the situation more arousing than she ever thought it could be. He was watching her engage in the same intimate act that she had secretly witnessed him doing and his face, his goddamn _face_ was so beautiful to her as he twisted his brow upward and parted his mouth, desperate for his turn to fuck her.

Though there was something so sacred about her engaging in her own body this way, touching herself underneath him while he didn’t make a move, knowing that she was doing it for him alone. It would seem sacrilegious, almost, for him to touch her, to dare to lay one of his ugly hands on her perfectly soft and beautiful and sexy body. His mind drifted suddenly, against his own will, wondering just what in the fuck she was even doing letting him do that shit to her. What gave him the right to think he could lay even a single hand on her? What made him so appealing to someone like _her_ , anyway? Why would she ever spend her precious alone time masturbating to the thought of someone like _him_?  

“How many times did you cum to me that night?” he asked in a rough whisper, bringing a moan from her lips.

“Only once, _that_ night…” Her hand pushed harder against her clit and her legs began to shake. He pressed his forehead into hers.  

“Just that night, huh?” He laughed. “How many times did you do this for me, anyway, huh?”

“Too many to count.” Her voice shot out in a whisper as she nearly pushed herself over the edge, more quickly than usual considering her body was more sensitive than usual from their previous session. Hancock ducked his head down to bite down hard on her breast, before bringing himself back up to clutch a hand around her neck in a gentle hold. He softly squeezed the edges of her throat as she masturbated for him, choking out soft cries until her entire body was shaking.

“I’m cumming,” she managed to announce in a stifled groan as he choked her. His hand loosened after a few moments of her peak and he could feel his cock twitching, already leaking and desperate to be inside of her again. He pressed his mouth against hers as her fingers slowed, sucking on her tongue and bringing the hand that was once on Violet’s throat up to her hair, gently caressing her head.    

 

Hancock abruptly ended the kiss, yanking Violet up by her shoulders and nearly tossing her onto her back behind him. He pinned her hands over her head while they locked lips once more, his hips grinding against her still, his cock hitting her clit with each movement. When he removed his lips from hers they felt cold and ached for his touch again.

He spent no time warming her up, seeing as she had already done that for herself. From the way her cunt felt when he rubbed against her, it seemed like she was already soaked enough for the full length of him. Hancock instead went straight to work guiding his cock into her, thrusting deeply into her dripping cunt right away. Violet moaned loudly in response, feeling a hand crawl up to grab her neck, pressing a thumb into her throat and holding the sides hard enough for her to start seeing stars, but gently enough that she was still breathing.

“Fuck yes,” she choked out in a muffled cry as he repeatedly rammed his cock in her. “Choke me.” His grip around her throat tightened and she quaked, continuing her strangled cries, hoping her noisiness would encourage him to silence her, to squeeze her until she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. She wanted him to end her.

Fuck safety, right?

They didn’t play it safe.

 

“Got quite the set of lungs on you,” he teased with a snarl, pressing his face against hers. “Let’s see how much longer you can hold out.” Hancock’s grip tightened, his hands applying equal pressure to the sides of her neck until she writhed and her choked-out moans became more strained. After driving his cock into her a few more times, he released his hold and she gasped underneath him, her vision unblurring. He pressed his face to her neck and bit down before moving to her ear.

“Get back on top of me,” he ordered with a whisper before lifting himself onto his knees and flopping down onto his back. Violet crawled on top of him and wasted no time before she sank into him. Her movements were unhinged, rhythmless, frantic, desperate. Hancock’s hand reached to the side as she bounced on him, conjuring up two more hits of jet, filling his lungs as he offered her the next. Violet inhaled as she continued her movements, swallowing his cock over and over again before tossing the canister over her shoulder. His hand went back up to her neck, closing around her once more as he lifted his hips up to meet her grinding heat, feeling himself close to another glorious climax in combination with the high of the chems.

Sure enough, within moments of frantic and enthused riding, Hancock’s grip tightened around Violet’s neck as he spilled inside of her for the third time that afternoon, feeling it leak around his cock as he came to. Hancock finally brought his hand down from her neck, allowing her to heave out a heavy gasp and bring her head down to his chest. His hands wrapped around her back, feeling himself soften in her, not wanting to ever move from his spot.

Moments of silence passed as Hancock brushed his fingers through her hair, as she felt the heaving of his chest against her head, as they both lay there once again exhausted, torn between closing their eyes for another nap or laying there watching one another forever.

“So,” Violet finally released, “we’ll head out tomorrow, then?” He chuckled, running his hands across her back.

“Yeah, tomorrow, sounds great.” Violet sat up then, gently slapping her hands against his chest as she moved off of him and slid off the edge of his bed, reaching down for her many articles of clothing.

“You know I’d love to stick around but I promised Magnolia I’d buy her a drink before her set tonight. And I figure I’ve taken up enough of your precious time today already.” She hadn’t, of course, and if it were up to him he would have stayed there in his bed with her until the end of time.

He didn’t tell her that. Instead he was quiet, only reaching over for another cigarette. Cliché, but he always craved one after sex. A few drags later he was brought face-to-face with Violet and the torn remains of the shirts he had ripped to shards during their fit of passion. He laughed at the image, inhaling too sharply after the cigarette and coughing.

“Ah damn, looks like you gotta walk out topless now. What will the neighbors say?” She rolled her eyes.

“As much as I’m all for public nudity,” she began with a smirk, “it’s a bit too chilly outside for that.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he returned as he reached a hand forward to squeeze one of her already-erect nipples. Violet swatted his hand away in jest before snatching the cigarette from his fingers and breathing in nicotine. “Okay, okay,” John offered as he swung his legs over the bed and walking to the dresser, eyeing the Rad-X and RadAway he always kept on top of it. He grabbed the IV bag and waved it in the air behind him. “You wanna fix yourself up with this while I find ya some clothes? Not to scare you too much, but I’ve, uh, been known to set off some Geiger counters in my day.” Violet finished buckling her belt around her waist before walking to him and taking the RadAway from him and examining it.

“It would have really helped if you had told me that before we started fucking.” She shook her head as she unwrapped the package and took hold of the syringe.

“Nothin’ too bad, just better safe than sorry, and all that.” His hands landed upon a flannel shirt that had been hastily shoved into a drawer as Violet flushed out her system with the RadAway, knowing her stomach would hate her for it later. Hancock held up the article of clothing, not quite knowing where the fuck it could have come from, or who had owned it. Most likely a woman, based off the size, so he turned his head to the side to make sure she was done injecting the solution into her bloodstream before tossing it over his shoulder. “Catch!” He exclaimed as it headed for her arms. She caught it as she dropped the IV bag to the floor. “Athletic, aren’t ya?” Hancock teased, shutting the drawer and heading back to the bed to dress himself, grabbing the cigarette back from the ashtray. Violet rolled her eyes as she buttoned the fabric around her chest, finding it hard to close across the full width of her breasts. 

She turned to face Hancock as he buttoned up his trousers, cigarette still hanging from his mouth.

“I guess it’ll do,” she said, causing his head to lift, viewing the large gaps of exposed skin between the buttons. He laughed, ending with another painful cough from deep within his lungs. Too many chems.

“Let ‘em stare.” She picked up her discarded Pip-Boy and strapped it back to her wrist, once again covering up the symbol on her wrist.

“Well, ‘til later,” Violet announced. He snuffed the cigarette out in the ashtray before Violet could turn her heel toward the door and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“The Third Rail,” he rasped, “tonight. Eleven.” He cocked his head as he waited for a response. Despite herself, Violet found herself biting her lip and blushing.

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Good. Don’t forget. Been away from that soft skin of yours for too long. Makin’ up for lost time.” His hands went for her cheeks and he brought her in for a kiss, uncharacteristically gentle and tender, the kind that made her want to melt into him even more than usual. When Hancock pulled away, he patted a hand on her shoulder and led her towards the door. He winked at her before shutting it, leaving Violet to stand there in front of the wood panels, body still shaky and bruised from their games.

“God _damn_ it,” she whispered as she shuffled away, disappearing into the spiral staircase.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” John cursed to himself from behind the door.

They were _so_ fucked.                                              

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you guys, dunno why I feel like I always have to add a note but I just wanna let you know how thankful I am that people take the time to read this fic. I've been feeling pretty low and lonely lately, and finding solace in characters (particularly Hancock) is a familiar coping mechanism. Violet's turning out to be way more like me than I originally intended, and a lot of the shit in here is hitting a bit close to home to be honest, lol. But being able to turn my angsting and chronic loneliness into something that other people enjoy is something I'm extremely thankful for. Thank you, guys.


	5. (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impulsivity takes hold during Violet and Hancock's date at the Third Rail.

If a god existed—and Violet wasn’t sure one did—they really had the sickest sense of humor. Not only because of all the other fucked up shit going on in her life, but to top it off, Clair had assigned her the same exact room she had been in during her first night in Goodneighbor. The same bed she had been in, legs parted and hands busy as she envisioned Hancock’s hands around her body and his tongue against her cunt. She now sat at the edge of the same bed, the same amount of naked as she examined a bruise on the edge of her thigh given to her by the very man she had long fantasized about. She walked to a mirror hanging on the wall, all the while allowing puffs of cigarette smoke to escape her mouth. Violet came face-to-face with the image of the woman she had become—running and smudged makeup with bruises covering her throat. She softly ran her fingers over the marks littering her neck, feeling some sort of sick gratification knowing that he had marked her body so territorially and powerfully. She wasn’t sure which marks were made by his teeth and which were made by his hands. Those beautiful, coarse and muscled hands. Those sprightly fingers she always found so intoxicating, from the first second she observed the skillful way they clutched the handle of his switchblade as he stabbed Finn in front of her.

Violet smiled as she lifted her hand from her skin to remove the cigarette from her mouth, exhaling into her reflection. She had a few hours to kill before she was planning on meeting Magnolia—and later Hancock—which meant she had time to decide what she wanted to wear. She used to take such pride in getting dressed up, looking her best, showing off her assets to everyone. Violet did it as often as she could and didn’t take it for granted out in the wasteland. She planned on washing up and taking her sweet time with her hair and makeup. _Something_ in her was desperate to dazzle that night. 

***

The sun set across the wastes as Hancock sat at the edge of his couch, foot tapping incessantly as he rested his head in his hand, staring straight ahead at an invisible point on the wall in front of him. Fahrenheit sat on the other couch across from him, nursing a cigarette and growing increasingly more irritated by his uncharacteristic fidgeting.

“Is there something… Bothering you?” she tried, and he shook his head in response, though she felt it was a lie. “Should cool it with the jet, then. Making you antsy.” Once again, Hancock shook his head, but continued his fidgeting. “I saw your little friend stopped by to visit.” The tapping stopped.

“Huh?” His voice was distant.

“Don’t think I don’t notice that kinda shit. We’ve been friends long enough; I think I have a pretty decent read on you.” Smoke flowed from the bodyguard’s smirk and John finally lost his staring contest with the wall, instead shifting his focus on the smartass redhead sitting across from him.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about, sister,” he lied once more as his jittering hands reached for the nearly-empty tin of Mentats hidden deep within one of his coat pockets.

“You’re really bad at playing dumb, you know that?” Her smirk widened as she leaned her body forward. “I can tell what’s going on in that head of yours. Something about her has you hooked. You’ve had it bad since that little pawn first came through that gate. Or do I have to remind you that Finn is no longer with us, thanks to your impulsive little act of passion?” Fahrenheit was damn good at pushing his buttons, and she knew it. The Finn incident was far from out of character for Hancock, of course, but there was a clear ulterior motive and something about it almost irritated her for some reason.

“Impulsive? Sure. You know me. Act of passion? I gave that asshole plenty of warning before it led to that. Coulda been him shaking down anybody. If you _really_ knew me as well as you say, you’d know that.” She rolled her eyes. The back-and-forth they had was tiresome for the both of them sometimes.

“You’re not as smooth and mysterious as you think you are, you know.” She snorted, ashing her cigarette onto the wood floor instead of the ashtray, knowing it would piss him off. If he noticed, it didn’t show. 

“Never claimed to be either one of those things, sister.” He pushed another tablet into his mouth, losing count of how many in he was for the evening.

“Don’t have to claim something out loud to display it. And it’s gotten worse since you got back from traveling with her. This is more than just one of your little binges. You would have never taken that dainty little girl home last night if this other one didn’t have you all fucked up. Not your type.”

“Since when did you care about who I do and don’t take to bed? What business is that of yours?”  

“You make it my business when you keep me up with your screaming every damn night.” She finished her cigarette and stomped it out on the floor before reaching for another.

“We got ashtrays for a reason, you know,” he quipped, and Fahrenheit grinned. She _loved_ getting a rise out of him.

“I’m just saying, you’re not as sly as you might think.” She paused to light up and exhaled through her nostrils. “Everyone can tell. It’s not every day you come back to the same person. More than friends-with-benefits. Or whatever.”

“I don’t gotta listen to this, or explain myself to you, or anyone else. Just know you’re wrong.” Hancock stood up and headed for the door. Pride rose in Fahrenheit’s chest knowing she had provoked him so well.

“Whatever you say, mayor.” Hancock didn’t give a last glance before leaving the room, or he would have been faced with the unabashed smirk on his bodyguard’s face. He stood, back to the door for a moment, unmoving as his inebriated brain processed the conversation. Was he really _that_ obvious? It had been so long since he had allowed himself to develop feelings for anyone, he had forgotten how to act. Not that this was something he _allowed_ himself to feel. The way he felt about her was more of a natural instinct, something impossible to suppress. Hancock nodded at the Watch as he shuffled off to his bedroom, deep in thought for the rest of his hazy evening.

***

Violet sat at the bar, a glass of Nuka-vodka sitting in front of her—her third of the evening—and Magnolia to her left. They had been talking for an hour or so, Violet catching her up on her latest life developments and Magnolia offering an understanding and much appreciated ear. Her set that night didn’t start until eleven—much later than usual—which was something that John must have known, Violet thought, which must have been why he asked to meet then. She hadn’t eaten much that day, and by the time the sun set she was already too worked up for her meeting with him that she didn’t have much of an appetite. So, she was already a little sloshed on her third cocktail. A lightweight she was not, but a short frame and habit of sucking down liquids too quickly would do that to a gal. Plus she kept forgetting that wasteland vodka was all fucked up, and all that.

She had already ordered her fourth when Magnolia finally took to the stage to once again enamor her audience. The joint was crowded, even more so than usual, and Violet loved the familiar feeling of sitting alone with her drink, lost in the crowd, drunk and more than a little high from some jet. Reminded her of her singer days, but god _damn_ did she miss the cocaine. And the singing, of course.

It was slightly past eleven, but she knew he would be late. He always was. And to be fair, so was she, usually. It was fashionable, right? She dragged a finger around the lipstick-stained rim of her glass as she eavesdropped on Whitechapel Charlie talking business with a stranger at the other end of the bar. The sounds of Mags’ voice mixed with the crowd made her feel at home and at peace and she was completely relishing in the moment when a familiar rough and spindly hand suddenly touched her shoulder.

 

Violet jerked her head around to witness The Smirk, feeling her heart pound through her chest at the familiar expression. He had already completely exhausted her body and yet the prospect of more had her on edge. With him, she always wanted more. It was never enough, probably never would be enough. He was intoxicating and inviting and it made him almost enigmatic, in a way, the fact that no matter what he did to Violet, she never felt it was enough.

Hancock kept his hand firmly planted on her shoulder, tightening his fingers a bit as he studied the image in front of him. She had clearly bathed since that afternoon and was wearing some sort of low-cut and form-fitting dress with sleeves that fell beneath her shoulders. Every flattering curve was accentuated, every unflattering curve was concealed, and she was undoubtedly showing off almost too much cleavage on purpose. Violet had obviously spent a long while on her makeup that evening as well, her full lips lined and filled cherry red, eyes lined with kohl. The pristine condition of her makeup was offset by the blemishes adorning her neck and chest, souvenirs from earlier that afternoon. The fresh bite marks that adorned her neck, collarbone, and tits were on full display, and she was wearing a small bruise on the underside of an arm, unquestionably from the same hand gripping her too tightly during a heated moment. Hancock was already hard and they hadn’t even spoken yet. 

“Well, look who it is,” she almost slurred as their eyes met, throwing one of his typical lines back at him. Seeing his grin and feeling his touch already had her feeling _several_ types of ways.

“You’re lookin’ pretty damn inviting,” he greeted, running his hand down the slope of her shoulder before lifting it and moving it to the brim of his hat. He tipped it slightly forward as he bared his teeth to her, widening his smile. Violet’s eyes traveled from his eyes down to the arousal growing in his pants and she felt her lower abdomen tighten. She couldn’t fucking wait to have him.

“So are you,” she replied, moving her eyes back up to meet his. His hand reached back down for hers, holding her in a loose grip as he tilted his head to the other side of the room.

“C’mon,” he urged, and Violet grabbed her nearly-empty drink before following him to the couch sitting at the back of the room, pressed against a railing. A short and stained coffee table had been pushed in front of the sofa, and Violet placed her glass on the table as they sat and scooted in to one another. Hancock leaned back and draped an arm around the back of the seat, just near her head, crossing his ankles as he leaned back, watching the Mr. Handy float over to them from behind the bar, holding both an empty glass and a bottle of whiskey.

“Thought you might stop by tonight, Mayor Hancock.” The robot placed the two glass objects on the table, bringing a smile to the ghoul’s face.

“Hey, thanks Chuck.” His hands reached for the drink and the glass, which he began to fill.

“Saved a bottle of your favorite brand, newly restocked.”

“’Preciate it.” He lifted the glass in a cheers motion towards Charlie before taking a sip. With that, the robot moved back to his post. Violet then downed the rest of her drink in one fatal swig, too drunk and ready to be fucked. Hancock laughed as he set his own drink down and looked over at her.

“Look who’s going hard tonight,” he pestered. John, of course, was already fairly fucked up (as he almost always was) from his Mentats and jet and the few drinks he had consumed in lieu of a lunch and dinner. But still, he reached for the trusty tin in his coat pocket for another fix before offering it to his companion. Violet smiled graciously and grabbed two tablets, silently swallowing them without any retort. She leaned back against the couch then, crossing her legs and staring ahead intently at the stage on the other side of the room.

The two sat in silence, lost in the noise of the singing and the crowd for a minute or two, before Hancock’s arm slyly draped around her shoulders. Violet obliged and leaned into him, bringing her body tightly into his. She breathed in as she did, the beautiful muskiness and leather and clove and earth and everything that was completely and unmistakably _Hancock,_ letting her head bury itself into his scratchy crimson coat. Maybe this time, if she tried hard enough and was lucky, she would finally perfectly melt into him.

Just as Hancock had managed to stick a cigarette in his mouth in between his drinking, a woman approached their table. She was tall and thin and a ghoul to boot, her wig black and styled meticulously but her clothing worn and old. She held between her peeling fingers a bottle of Gwinett Stout and from the way she stumbled up to them, appeared to be more than slightly inebriated. Violet lifted her head from his shoulder as the stranger came closer.

“Hey Hancock,” she slurred with a flirtatious grin before leaning her head back and taking a drink of her beverage.

“Oh, hey,” he answered passively. Violet felt her body tighten and she pressed her body even closer into his, growing suddenly jealous and territorial. She stared up at the woman with eyes that she had hoped would say “don’t fuck with me” but considering her level of drunkenness it was unlikely that her face conveyed anything other than intoxication.

“Nice seein’ you again. Are you up for another… Tour of the town?” The female ghoul winked, as if the popular euphemism wasn’t obvious enough already. Violet’s jaw clenched, wondering just how many more fucking times she was going to have to deal with these people just waltzing up to him and asking the same goddamn thing right in front of her. It was getting old. She didn’t care about his promiscuity, hell, she found it a bit sexy, but it was disheartening when she was sitting right next to him.

“Uh,” John glanced over at Violet for a moment and noticed the change in her expression, feeling her body stiffen underneath him. He also noticed the erection that was still pulsing underneath his trousers, knowing it was brought on by the woman sitting next to him and not the one standing in front. He brought his attention back to his drunken admirer. “Sorry, but uh, I’m not really givin’ out any tours right now.” He was, of course, considering the fact that he couldn’t let himself get too emotionally involved with Violet, but he didn’t really feel like doing it with Quinn, who was always far too rowdy, and not even in a fun way. She just lacked any kind of rhythm and was always too wasted to perform properly. A shame, since he particularly enjoyed sex with his fellow ghouls. Besides, it would be in incredibly poor taste to take up an offer while he was on a date. He was more than a little annoyed that she had even approached him while he was with Violet. Quinn’s face dropped.

“Oh, okay.” She glanced down at Violet then, receiving the piercing stare of her eyes in return. “Guess I’ll come back when you get rid of this lump.” With that, she turned, and Violet sat up suddenly, fighting the instinctual urge to follow and fight her. John held a grip on her shoulder, forcing her back down.

“Easy, sister,” he coaxed. “Quinn ain’t nothin’ to get riled up over. Trust me. She ain’t worth it. Tonight, I’m with you. Got it?” In lieu of a verbal response, Violet rolled her head back against his shoulder and slipped a hand into one of his jacket pockets, wrapping a hand around the familiar shape of a jet canister and pulling it out. She smiled at him as she took a small puff and handed it back. Hancock finished it off for her with a chuckle before tossing the empty container onto the table.

“I’m drunk,” Violet announced, as though it hadn’t been completely obvious. “And high.” Hancock laughed again, running his hand over her shoulder.

“I know, doll.” He leaned forward to kiss her, soft and gentle, his tongue only briefly sweeping over hers, grazing her teeth before pulling away. He brought Violet in closer to him as they watched the stage, Violet feeling herself getting lost underneath his firm but gentle hold.

 

A few moments passed before Violet felt a hand gliding over her bare thigh, sliding underneath her dress and lightly teasing the area between her legs. She looked up at Hancock, whose eyes were still focused on the other side of the room. She looked around them, at all the other guests, seated and talking and watching and drinking, paying the two of them no mind. Her chest tightened and she blushed despite herself as she allowed his hand to slowly graze over her underwear. She felt a finger tease her lips through the wet cloth, growing increasingly more enthusiastic over the fact that no one knew what the two of them were about to do right there in the middle of it all. If anyone were to walk past their seat and glance down, they would have seen the ghoul’s hand rubbing against Violet’s panties as her dress rode up slightly under his touch. Hancock was a popular man, he always had people coming up to talk to him everywhere he went, including the Rail. They had already been approached by one person, what was stopping someone else from walking up to them and witnessing the vault girl getting felt up by the mayor of Goodneighbor in the middle of the bar?

As she was thinking about this, John’s fingers lightly rubbed through the outline of her clothed labia, smiling as he came into contact with the wetness that was already seeping through the material. His head leaned in to rest on her shoulder as he added pressure into her core before whispering into her ear.

“You’re already that fuckin’ wet for me? First few times weren’t enough?” Hancock’s finger pushed into her as deeply as the fabric barrier allowed and Violet squirmed, letting out a restrained moan in response, though keeping a straight face. He laughed softly, moving her underwear to the side, providing him access to her bare cunt. Violet forced herself to focus on her surroundings, anything to keep her from gasping at the contact from Hancock’s hand rubbing against her bare clit. She bit down on her lower lip as her hand wrapped around her empty glass, increasingly growing more excited by the thought of someone watching them. A sick part of Violet hoped that someone would walk past and notice what was happening, force them to come to terms with the fact that she was allowing him to finger her on a couch in the middle of a crowded bar. As she tightened her grip around her glass, he slipped a finger into her, curling it upward and out a few times before removing it, drenched in her own wetness already. He examined his hand for a moment before resuming his movements, rolling his head over on her shoulder and breathing into her ear.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he repeated in a hoarse whisper before gently biting down on her earlobe. Violet groaned and tensed her legs, allowing the music and the audience to drown out all of her thoughts, every last bit of doubt she had in her head, every patter of “you should stop” and “this won’t end well.” She was with Hancock to forget herself. So, Violet’s hand crawled away from her glass and into his lap, caressing the bulge beneath his pants. She stroked him through his trousers as two of his own fingers pumped in and out of her. Her head dug into the crook of his neck as he upped his speed, ever-so-slightly, still maintaining a somewhat lazy pace as they kept their bodies and heads positioned straight ahead. People walked in front of their table as they moved from the bar to their tables and Violet bit back a smile as she imagined what they must have looked like to each passerby. Just two drunk bar patrons leaning on one another, enjoying the moment in silence. No reason for anyone to think there was anything else going on underneath the table.

Growing both bolder and drunker, Violet’s fingers clumsily reached for the buttons on Hancock’s pants, successfully opening him up as he turned his head to her with a daring smile. She slipped her hand into his trousers and began stroking his bare cock, hand wrapping around the tip and slowly moving it up his length. Her sudden bravery encouraged him even more as he managed to insert a third finger into her, bringing another controlled whimper from her lips. Hancock laughed in response, brushing his own lips against her cheek before moving back to her ear.

“Why so shy?” he teased. “Embarrassed to let everyone know what I do to you?” Her body subtly shuddered in response and she tightened her grip on him, now wasting no time as she slid her hand up and down the entire length of his member. It was his turn to groan now, uninhibited, rolling his head to fall against the back of the couch. She stopped worrying about people watching as she sped up her hand, studying Hancock’s facial expression as he quietly groaned beneath her touch. His own fingers curved against Violet’s g-spot as he allowed his eyes to drift closed, impulsively and faintly lifting his hips to meet her touch.

As their hands worked at a simultaneous pace, Violet’s mind suddenly smacked back to reality as the patrons cheered for the end of the song. Her hand stopped, whipping her head around them, suddenly hyperaware of the situation she was in and now afraid of being exposed. Hancock must have noticed because he laughed softly once more, slowing his fingers and kissing her on the cheek.

“What, Vi? You gettin’ shy on me again?” She shook her head, removing it from his shoulder and removing her hand from him.

“I want more,” she whispered into his jacket, feeling his fingertips hit the back of her for a final few times before exiting. Hancock smiled at her as he brought his three fingers to her lips. She glanced around for a moment before deciding no one was paying them any mind, then proceeded to take them in her mouth. She gently sucked herself off of Hancock’s fingers as he brought his other hand to the buttons on his pants. He removed his hand from Violet’s lips after a moment and proceeded to button himself back up. As he did, she leaned back into him, her voice a sultry whisper.

“I’m going upstairs to fix myself real quick. Meet you in the VIP Room?” Hancock nodded, adjusting the sash on his trousers as she sat up and started up the staircase.

 

She passed Ham, giving him a friendly nod before entering the doorway to the unkempt restroom. Violet bent over in front of the stalls to determine if there were any feet to be seen on the other side. Once realizing she was alone, she let out a heavy sigh and turned to face the cracked mirror that hung over the sinks. She washed her hands as she examined herself, satisfied with the current state of her makeup—only slightly smudged lipstick, and not much else. Violet was suddenly overcome with relief over the fact that she was too drunk and high to criticize herself for her current situation. She was long past all that, anyway. It was clear to her that she wasn’t going to stop seeing him anytime soon, no matter what her brain was telling her. She always liked to believe that she was a smart woman, capable of seeing a disaster a mile away. And truthfully, she was. She could sense this disaster many, many miles away. The thing is, she just didn’t care. She was barreling towards it at full speed, desperate to get caught up in it, almost hoping it would kill her.

Violet was a smart woman, but a reckless one.

She shrugged her shoulders as she patted her hair down, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She stood on wobbly legs in front of the sinks for a moment to compose herself.

 _Okay,_ she told herself. _You’re here, and you just let him feel you up in the middle of the fucking Rail. Now you’re going to fuck him in the back room, and it’s going to be fun. Forget everything else and just have fun. Don’t worry about it._

Violet was so deeply lost in her internal pep talk that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching upon the cold and dirty tile floor. She didn’t even feel the presence of the figure behind her until suddenly someone’s body was pressed against her back, their hands wrapping around her shoulders and a hand grabbing her breast. Her eyes darted open to see—who else? —but John, standing behind her and grinding himself into her back.

“Impatient, are we?” she teased, allowing her own hips to gyrate backwards against his. He grinned, tightening his hold on her breast.

“Couldn’t keep away from you for one more second,” he admitted, his timbre that inviting and seductive purr that made Violet’s entire body shiver. “Gotta have you now.” He dragged one of his hands down the sleeve of her dress, attempting to remove it from her arm as he placed a kiss onto her neck.

“Here?” she asked, making note of their location. Violet had been involved in hookups in many strange and grimy places, to be sure, but when there was the option to lay on a couch…

“Here.” With that, his persona changed once more to the dominant version of himself, yanking her body to the side, walking and then shoving her face first into the wall. His lips trailed hotly across the sides and back of her neck as his hands travelled up and down the arc of her back, landing on her ass before moving back up.

“John…” She had intended to protest, but fuck, something about their situation was turning her on even more. This was about to be far riskier than their little barroom feel-up. They were about to fuck where there wasn’t even a door to protect them from the outside world.

“You know I _love_ it when you say my name.” He bit down on her neck as his hands moved to the bottom of her dress, moving the fabric up over the curve of her ass. He grinned as he ran them over her before he bent and bit down hard on her ass cheek. She cried out in surprise, much louder than she had anticipated, eliciting a laugh from his lips. Hancock pulled down her panties then, allowing them to fall down to her ankles as he kneeled behind her, running his hands over her backside again. Violet adjusted herself, slightly parting her legs to him and somewhat bending at the waist, using her elbows to hold herself up against the wall. Hancock acted on his impulse to spread her ass cheeks and begin lapping at her ass with his tongue. Violet cried out, louder than last time, surprised again. John laughed into her skin as he continued, his tongue soon busy at work.

“Holy _fuck_ , John,” her voice shot out in a whisper. It had been too long since anyone had contacted this side of her body, and she had missed it more than she realized. Her legs shook beneath his hold, legs opening a bit more to allow him easier access. Hancock raised a hand up to stroke her skin again, then smacked down hard on her ass, the resounding _whack_ echoing off of the walls and mingling with the faint noises emanating from the room beneath them. “Yes,” Violet moaned in encouragement, so he spanked her harder this time. “ _Fuck_ that feels good.”

He continued for a while longer, eventually slipping a finger into her cunt as his tongue flicked over her back entrance, teasing and prodding but never fully entering. Violet shook with each delve of his tongue, pleading for more as he added a second finger to her heat and she swung an arm around to grasp Hancock’s head, nearly knocking his hat to the floor. 

With a final faint laugh into her skin, Hancock removed himself from her and came to his feet, keeping two hands firmly planted on both sides of Violet’s hips. She turned her head to face him, her hair already in disarray, face reddening and lips parted.

“You like that, huh?” Hancock asked with a grin, forcing her hips backward into his clothed erection.

“Yes,” Violet moaned. “I love it.” He laughed.

“Yeah, thought you would.” He thrusted again. “You like _all_ the fun shit I like.” He rubbed himself against her ass now, Violet moaning quietly despite the clothing barrier.

“Please,” she begged.

“Please what?” Hancock teased, sliding a hand up her back.

“Fuck me. Please.”

“You want me to fuck you, Violet?” He positioned his head onto her shoulder, his voice burning again against her ear. “You want me to fuck you here, in this _dirty_ bathroom, pressed up against the wall like some kinda animal?”  

“I don’t care how, just give it to me.” Hancock laughed again, lifting up her dress and spanking her ass one last time.

“You’re desperate for my cock, huh?” He untied his sash and began unbuttoning himself, his handiwork clumsy from the intoxication—a bit too much, even for him. “Can’t fuckin’ get enough of it, huh?” He managed to undo the last few buttons on his trousers before freeing his member from the suffocation of his clothing. It nearly sprung out as he gave it a few gentle and eager strokes. He softly pressed it against her, deliberately missing her entrance as he rubbed it between her thighs.

 _Can’t get enough of **you**_ , Violet wanted to whisper back. But instead she merely groaned.    

“Gotta be quiet if you want it. Lotta people in here, couple as attractive as us might bring in a crowd for a private show. Don’t want _that,_ least not yet.” He allowed the tip of his cock to dive into her entrance, and Violet bit on her lower lip to keep quiet. Hancock removed himself from her, then suddenly and swiftly rammed his cock back in. Violet’s teeth dug deeper into her lip as a deep quieted groan escaped from her throat. He stayed just like that for a moment, moving his upper body forward and placing his hands over her own on the wall.

“You feel so _good_ ,” Hancock remarked. “Almost never wanna leave this spot.”

 _Then don’t_ , Violet’s mind pleaded. _Stay here forever, meld your body into mine, don’t leave_. In reality, her response was a gentle hum of agreement. John hovered for a few more moments, buried in her as he planted a gentle kiss to the side of her throat, right over a mark he had left previously. Then he returned to work, moving his himself forward and back. Violet’s teeth pushed down harder on her lip with every calculated rock of his hips, tasting blood on her tongue. Hancock’s pace quickened, his hold on Violet’s hands tightening as he drove his cock in and out of her. Her legs shook as he pressed her body harder into the filthy wall, her cheek resting flush against the cold tile.

 

“God,” she let slip at a normal volume as he hit her g-spot.

“You’re always so damn loud,” Hancock teased, “gotta do somethin’ about that someday unless we want an audience.” He briefly envisioned her tied up in front of him with his sash wrapped in her mouth like a gag.

“Don’t care,” she replied, voice quaking with each drive of his cock. He chuckled softly then, releasing a hand from hers and gathering her hair into a fist.

“Voyeur _and_ an exhibitionist, huh?” His hand pulled Violet’s head back toward him as he fucked her now with wild and reckless abandon. All the while, Violet held back her cries and winces, floating through waves of pure ecstasy as she was repeatedly filled by his length.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice now drowned out by the overwhelming and telltale sound of rhythmic slapping echoing off of the tile of the tiny restroom. No one had entered or even walked past the entrance since they started, but even if they had been caught in the act it wouldn’t have stopped either of them now. The two were a forest fire, electric passion from the second their eyes met, an attraction impossible to quench. They both felt it, deep down, this feeling that they would never be able to suffocate. They had surrendered themselves to it. Let them watch, let them judge, don’t think about how it’ll end, no future, only the Now.

As he sped up, Hancock released his hold on her hair and sucked on his middle finger for a moment. When he popped it out of his mouth, he grabbed hold of her ass with one hand and teased the wet finger around her back entrance, not slowing his cock for a second. He held his finger there for a moment, waiting in case there was an objection or disapproval, but all he received were hushed groans. With that, he slowly began to work it into her. Violet was really struggling to hold back now, her face scrunched up and pressed flush against the wall, lip bleeding from biting too hard.

As Hancock kept his fixed stride, he was finally able to slide his finger completely into her ass, buried to the knuckle. He slid out, slowly, before moving it back in, a little quicker this time. Soon he had crafted a steady tempo with his hand as well, his finger moving at half-speed to his cock. Violet involuntarily clenched around both parts of him, her eyes squeezed shut and heart pounding in her ears. Fuck, he felt more amazing to her than anyone else she had ever been with. Hancock hit all the right parts of her body, naturally giving her everything she needed and everything she never knew she did. Every single touch from him was nothing short of perfect, as though somehow, he had spent his entire life studying her. It was as if he knew her body better than she did, and he could play it like a fucking fiddle.

“You’re so fuckin’ _tight_ here,” he whispered into the crook of her neck, his finger plunging into her ass as deeply as possible. “Can’t hold in much longer either.”

“Yeah?” she breathed back.

“Yeah.” He hastened his pace, removing his finger from her and using it to grip the sides of her body instead. He yanked her by the hips toward him repeatedly, pressing into her skin so hard that he was sure to leave more bruises.

Violet ached to speak, to beg him to fill her up, but bit her tongue as Hancock deliberately slowed, his fingernails digging into her skin now.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warned in a hushed rasp, and less than a second later he spilled into her, accompanied by a deep and quieted groan. He pumped into her gently a few more times as her cunt squeezed the last few drops from his cock. Hancock’s soft growl turned into a deep chuckle as he leaned against Violet’s back, still buried in her as he decorated her back with delicate kisses, wishing she had been nude so he could see those freckles again.

 

“You good, love?” A wave of sadness overcame her suddenly. She knew the “love” was merely pillowtalk, a disingenuous nickname, and he probably didn’t mean any harm by it, just mindless patter. But despite her heavily intoxicated brain she felt a sting to her heart.

“I’m good,” she whispered back, and with a final kiss to her shoulder Hancock pulled out of her and patted her back. He held up the bottom of her dress, keeping it hiked up over her bare ass to watch his cum gradually drip out of her. “Too sensitive to cum again tonight,” Violet added as she bent down to pull her panties back up. She turned to face him. “You think anyone heard us?” He laughed again.

“If they did, they’re damn lucky. Probably put on a good fuckin’ show.” Violet’s chest twisted, thinking about someone watching her pushed flush against the bathroom wall as Hancock roughly fucked her from behind. She knew it was doubtful, people rarely visited the restroom at the Rail, especially when Magnolia was singing. But she was thrilled by the idea, so much that she was almost a little embarrassed about it.

“Well, I’m tired, I should prob—” Violet was cut off by a set of rough and ruined lips pressing against hers, followed by a tongue delicately slipping through. The kiss was warm, soft, even and she despised how gentle John became after sex. It would make things much easier if he was just a fuck-and-go kinda guy, make her feel better if he was some kind of asshole to her. But of course, nothing about them could ever be easy.

“You wanna stay over tonight? Got some Orange Mentats. And picked up some Jet Fuel ‘coupla hours ago for ya.” _Fuck._

“I…” her voice trailed off as she considered his offer. Did she want to? Of fucking _course_. Should she, though? Why was it even a question? She knew she was going to say yes; they had just fucked in a disgusting old bathroom for fuck’s sake. She was silent a moment and he didn’t pressure her for an instant answer. Just looked at her, lost in those delicate facial features as he watched her mind race, a hand placed on her shoulder. Violet looked like no one he had ever seen in the Commonwealth, more like those old pin-up girls he had seen in the magazines. Made sense that she would look dissimilar, he supposed, being the Woman out of Time, and all that. Made her more attractive than anyone he had seen. He loved different, of course.

“Sure,” Violet finally decided, resigning to her fate yet again. He grinned.

“Let’s go, then.” He slid his hand down her arm toward her hand, lacing his own fingers through hers. Violet accepted and he nodded at the exit. They walked out of the restroom hand-in-hand, throwing subtlety and any amount of inconspicuousness out the window. They passed Ham, who gave them both an annoyed and knowing look (he _was_ just stationed right outside, after all, though he had become well accustomed to the mayor’s behavior.) The two turned, noticing that right next to the door to the outside stood Quinn, still holding onto the same bottle of beer with only a sip left at the bottom. She glared at Violet as they walked by, who merely shrugged at the female ghoul with a smirk as Hancock pushed open the door, ignoring her.

Maybe being caught in the act wasn’t so fucking embarrassing after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the later update, who knew you could get writer's block for a story with barely any plot? Lol. I'm honestly putting way more of myself into Violet than originally intended and I wasn't intending to add all my kinks into this story but fuck it. Write what you know, am I right? ;) Also feel bad making the first female ghoul character an asshole, but ah well. Thanks so much for reading! <3


	6. (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet and Hancock set out to travel together once again, and Violet shares a very personal story with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Rape mention in chapter/author's note

Violet awoke tangled up in the untidy sheets atop Hancock’s bed, his arm draped across her shoulder and his body pressed against her back. Her head was pulsing and her entire body ached, and the sunlight spilling into the room, only slightly filtered through the broken blinds, hurt her eyes. She squeezed them shut and rolled onto her back, feeling him shift against her before she decided to flip onto her other side, buried into his bare chest. Hancock moved himself closer into her, holding Violet in his arms as she ran her own arm over his side. She breathed against him, attempting to remember for a moment what had happened the previous evening when they returned from the Rail. Her memories were short flashes of images of stumbling into the Old State House, the visage of Hancock laughing at her when she nearly stumbled backwards down the stairs before his hand gripped hers to yank her up. The voices of the Neighborhood Watch saying something to him as she tugged on his jacket, attempting to pull him into his bedroom. Once they were behind the locked doors, she was pretty sure they kissed for a while and partook in some chems—she could still taste orange at the back of her throat—but she couldn’t remember much else, including collapsing into a heap on top of his bed. She vaguely recalled him shoving an IV of RadAway into her hands, and she was pretty sure she had once again chastised him for irradiating her, though deep down she still (embarrassingly) found it deeply sexy that he could probably destroy her from cumming in her too many times. Violet suddenly came to the realization that this was the first time she had ever spent the night in Hancock’s bed. 

They lay like that for a while longer, bodies interwoven, pressed together as one, hearts beating and breaths expelling mutually. She brought herself in closer to him, feeling her skin numb and slowly losing any sense of where she ended and he began. It was quickly becoming Violet’s favorite feeling.

Hancock’s grip suddenly tightened around her shoulders, squeezing her close to him before planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Mornin’,” he uttered with a soft smile.

“I have a headache,” was Violet’s quieted response, though the corners of her mouth were turned up into a faint grin.

“Me too,” Hancock laughed faintly as he gathered the stamina to roll onto his back and push himself up into a seated position. “Got some more Mentats in the drawer there, should probably help.” He indicated towards the nightstand on Violet’s side of the bed. She sat and reached over to open the drawer, suddenly noticing that she was entirely nude underneath the sheets. Her brain attempted to process more memories from the previous night, but only flickers of her removing her clothing as they kissed passionately were available. She figured they had made out for a while before collapsing into a deep sleep. It was doubtful she would have had the energy to fuck him again, especially if she had newly injected RadAway into her system.

Violet’s thoughts dissipated as she gathered up two powdery tablets and placed them delicately into her mouth. She briefly realized how much her tolerance had gone up in just the short amount of time since meeting him. Violet then leaned her back against the headboard, allowing the pills to dissolve on her tongue, the overwhelming taste of artificial orange overpowering her taste buds.

“Ya know what time it is?” the gruff voice next to her inquired as his hands reached for the same tin Violet still held in her hands. She scanned her surroundings for a moment, attempting to discern where her Pip-Boy had ended up. Her eyes landed on the device laying on the floor next to the bedframe. She leaned over the edge of the mattress and picked it up, squinting at the home screen.

“A little after noon.” She snorted. “Could be worse, I guess.” Violet reached over for the package of cigarettes, slipping one out as Hancock popped a few Mentats into his mouth and shrugged.

“So, you wanna get going soon?” Violet nodded, handing a cigarette to him and lighting her own.

“As soon as I can get some fucking water and this headache goes away.” She laughed before inhaling. “Do you remember what happened when we left the Rail?” Violet continued, passing him the lighter. 

“Vaguely. You were pretty fucked up, doll.” Hancock laughed at the memory of Violet stumbling against him as she attempted to ascend the spiral staircase, recalling catching her as she fell back toward him once. Presently, she rolled her eyes.

“I’m aware. How did I end up naked?” The question provoked an unexpected laugh from Hancock as he inhaled his cigarette, resulting in a deep and brief coughing fit.

“You really don’t remember?” Violet shook her head. “Soon as we got in here you slammed my door shut and started grinding yourself all over me, beggin’ for more. Can’t say I blame ya.” He flashed a daring smile her way, and she swatted his arm. “Started untying my sash and shit, but your eyes were all glassy and you could barely walk, I had to force some RadAway into your system before your hair started fallin’ out.” He took one more drag before turning his head back to her. “Sorry ‘bout that, by the way. Need to start taking precautions. Usually think about it right away, but you got a talent for distracting me.”

“I dunno, I think I’d make a pretty hot ghoul.” Violet grinned at him. “You still didn’t answer my question, though.”

“What more is there to say? You started stripping while I was preppin’ your IV bag. I turned around and cracked the fuck up. The entire time you were givin’ me shit about not warning you about my… radioactivity, and all that. Fair ‘nuff, I think.” He shifted his body as he finished his cigarette and handed it over to Violet, who extinguished it in the ashtray along with her own. “You kept beggin’ me to fuck you again, then flopped down on my bed and crashed. Thought it was only fair if I took off all my clothes too, so we’re even.” He laughed again, Violet joining him now.

“Well, at least that’s not the most embarrassing I’ve acted while wasted.” Violet was silent a moment, then reluctantly pushed herself to the edge of the bed and stood up. “I guess I should actually, ya know, do my job now.”

“Right behind ya, sister.”     

***

It was a fairly easy trek to Cambridge Polymer Labs that afternoon, and the two gained easy access into the building. However, once they did, they managed to activate some sort of building override, trapping them in the building until Violet was able to finish a science experiment that had been underway before the bombs dropped. She stood in front of some sort of reagent applicator, donning a lab suit that she had been instructed to change into by the Miss Nanny as she examined chemical samples.

“I have no fucking idea what any of this means,” Violet admitted as she typed away on the terminal.

“Your guess is as good as mine, sister,” Hancock replied, deciding now was a good moment to light up a cigarette. They both assumed they had gotten rid of all the ferals in the building by that point, but Violet still found herself looking over her shoulder every few minutes, just in case. “Could always activate that override, get us the hell outta here. Already got the password.” She shook her head.

“I’m not trying to start a fight with that robot right now. She was nice, I’d feel bad. Plus, I think I’ve almost got it. It looks like I just need to find one more sample…” Her voice trailed off as she removed one from the applicator. “I really wish I hadn’t failed chemistry right about now.”

“So, what’s this password supposed to do, exactly?”

“It’s some kind of administrative passcode, I think?” Violet tried, though she was far from a technical mastermind, or a scientific genius, for that matter. “It’s supposed to help Patriot bypass some Institute security for those synths we’re trying to free. What it’s doing in here, I have no idea.”

“Gotta admit,” he started, “never really got too closely involved in Railroad operations, so this is all new to me. Let ‘em use Goodneighbor as a safe passage, didn’t bother ‘em, but never talked about it with anyone. Always thought it was best to keep quiet. Never knew much, so this is all goin’ over my head.”

“Yeah, honestly, sometimes it’s tricky to not tell people about my involvement,” Violet confessed, her voice accompanied by the noise of fingers clacking on the terminal keyboard. “It feels really great to be doing this kind of work again, though. My specialty back in the day was defending society’s outcasts, in a way. I think I told you a little bit about it. Communist nationalists and whatnot.” She stopped. “Not that I figure anyone knows what communism is anymore.”

“Some kinda Old World malarkey, is all I know.” She laughed.

“At least capitalism’s gone the same way.” Hancock smoked as he studied Violet’s figure typing away on the terminal. He wasn’t well-versed in many specifics of what she spoke about when she discussed the Old World, of course, but he knew they had similar ethics. He had read a fair number of old books, but from what Violet had told him, a lot of them were probably biased or propaganda. From everything she had told him, it seemed like she was born to be a Railroad Agent. She was a true advocate for justice, especially for those who were stifled by the social order. He could get behind that.

And behind her, obviously.

She turned, then, removing her pistol from its hip holster. “We gotta go back out, I just need to find a gold sample and then we can finish this thing, I promise.” Hancock stomped his cigarette out on the tile floor before leaving the experiment room, led by Violet.

 

“So, gimme your opinion. Do you think places like this helped or hurt people?” Hancock inquired as Violet rummaged through an upper floor office, attempting to locate a gold sample anywhere.

“Honestly, I don’t know shit about science, or what any of this means,” Violet repeated, “but from what I’ve read in these old terminals, probably hurt, at least a little bit.”

“What makes ya say that?” He was curious, didn’t know much about her time and figured Violet’s opinion would be different and interesting.

“Well, they were working in military research for one, and don’t even get me started on that shit.” She paused briefly as she picked up a roll of duct tape and stuffed it into her bag, expecting Hancock to jibe her for her hoarding, but he was silent. “It doesn’t seem like they conducted any kinds of inhumane experiments or whatever, but honestly at this point they had to have known what we were supporting. They helped, so I fault them for it.” Violet moved from her spot underneath a desk to across the room, growing hopeless at the idea that she may never find the final sample.

“So, I know ya hated the people in charge of America during your time, right?” He reached for a cigarette and lit it in his mouth. “From what other people say about the time before the bombs—and from what I’ve read— _they_ make it all out to be pretty good. So, what do you think about the people in charge of America… _before_ your time?” Hancock chose his words carefully, though Violet caught onto what he was implying. She paused for a moment as she deliberated carefully about what to say. 

“I don’t have the heart to tell you,” she replied with a laugh. “Let’s just both pretend that you’re the only important John Hancock who’s ever existed in the world, yeah?” He shrugged.

“Good enough for me. I’d prob’ly like my version of him better anyway.” Violet’s hands finally grasped around the tin canister she had been looking for.

“Dear fucking _god_ , it was right here the _entire goddamn_ time. Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here.”  

***

Somehow, after _finally_ departing the Polymer Labs, the two, deciding on a detour, had ended up right where they had begun, in a way: Hangman’s Alley. Violet had gotten hungry and wanted to cook something up, take a break. So as the sun set, she sat at the campfire while Hancock busied himself cleaning her shotgun for her, atop the same mattress they had slept on together that first evening they had decided to give into their instincts.   

It was different from the last time John had been there: tidier, cozier. A string of lightbulbs hung across the ceiling of the main shack, as well as outside, connecting each rickety structure to the next. It looked like it had taken quite a bit of time to thread it all up together and power it up. 

“I never claimed to be a good cook,” Violet warned as she slipped a slab of deathclaw meat onto a cracked plate, walking it over to Hancock’s spot on the mattress. She began carving it in half with a rusted knife, and then laughed suddenly as a thought popped into her head. “Did you know I used to be a vegetarian? For a long time?”

“Huh,” he pondered for a second, stopping in his spot with his hands on her gun. “’Musta been nice to have that kinda choice about what ya eat.” Violet laughed again, nodding her head.

“I wish I still was. Even though everything out here _is_ uglier and meaner. Sometimes I look those brahmin in the face and feel sad for them. I try to only eat the motherfuckers who try to kill me first.” Hancock continued cleaning Violet’s gun as she ate across from him, gulping down inhumane amounts of tepid Nuka-Cola to drown out the taste. Though deathclaw steak was a delicacy in the wasteland, it was certainly a taste Violet had not acquired, and probably never would. A sick part of her was a little relieved that wasteland food tasted awful and made her not want to eat much, remembering how guilty she used to feel after indulging in a big meal. She had certainly lost weight living out here, and though she knew it was from malnutrition, she felt embarrassingly happy about it.   

They sat in silence for a while, Violet letting her mind wander to thoughts about the myriad of mental illnesses and disorders that clouded her brain, as John’s hands were busy at work, his focus heightened by the extra dose of Mentats he had consumed. She watched him as he cleaned out her beloved weapon, her eyes once again drifting to concentrate on those hands of his, the long and limber fingers she had grown to appreciate so much. She felt her heart pulsing in her chest and felt self-conscious for a moment that just looking at someone could provoke such a foolish reaction from her. It still was as if she had a schoolgirl crush on this man, this man who had already taken her in more ways than she could have probably imagined. Violet knew she should have been far beyond this point by now, but she couldn’t help herself. The fact that he was off-limits in her mind only fueled the fire.  

“Do you ever miss _your_  old life?” she suddenly inquired, tilting her head to the side as Hancock lifted his to look at her. “I mean, your Diamond City days, or whatever? Not being a ghoul?” He considered for a moment before responding.

“Nah, can’t say I do. Parts of it, sure. Can’t pretend like it was _all_ shit. But that’s all past me, now. I ain’t him anymore, and I don’t care to be. Why?” She shrugged, taking a sip of her Nuka before setting it back down onto the wooden floor.

“Just wondering. I’ve been thinking about who I used to be a lot lately. I can’t say I miss her much, either. But—I know this sounds stupid—I feel like I never really was her to begin with. You know? It was just an act, I guess. I had to pretend to be her to survive. I think I’m more myself now than I ever have been.”

“Yeah, you been saying that a lot lately,” Hancock remarked as he began to piece her gun back together. “I feel you, though.” 

“Sorry,” she apologized hastily, “I just know that you understand, so I like to try and get my thoughts collected out loud with someone who would get it.” She honestly wasn’t quite sure why she kept repeating herself around him. Perhaps Violet was trying to coerce more information out of him, to speak more intimately to her, confide in her. He already had told her so much about himself, which she appreciated profusely, but, just as with everything else about him, she wanted _more._ And she wanted him to know her, all of her.

Hancock leaned the newly-polished shotgun against the wall of the rickety shack before leaning back himself and nicking a hit of jet from one of his many coat pockets. His lungs swiftly received the fumes of the chem, letting it fill his chest, feeling the smoke float all the way up into his brain and cloud his vision. He pulled another canister from his pocket and offered it toward Violet, who graciously accepted. Before she could put it to her lips, she pushed the plate across to him.

“Nah, I ain’t hungry.”

“You never eat,” Violet sighed in annoyance as she inhaled the chem. Hancock shrugged.

“I got the chems and the liquor,” he protested. “That’s a meal.” Violet just rolled her eyes, knowing that he _did_ eat, occasionally, enough for a person to get by, but she secretly was concerned. She would never admit it to him, though, and knew that if she had been in his position, she would despise if anyone were ever worried about her. It would only make her want to do whatever they hated even more.

They were too similar that way.

 

Instead of pushing the issue, Violet exited the shed, picking up the plate of half-eaten food as she made her way to the refrigerator that had been pressed into a hollow of the brick wall when she found the place. She had managed to jury-rig it to working condition despite her clumsiness and lack of technical know-how, a fact she was damn proud of. Violet placed the plate on one of the old and stained shelves, pulling out a bottle of Gwinnett lager with her other hand. She grabbed another one once her other hand was free and turned around, kicking the door shut behind her.

She smirked at Hancock as she kneeled back down next to him, sliding a bottle his way. He grinned back in that way that awkwardly made her stomach tighten. They sat, chatting idly and drinking until the only light shining in the alley was the flickering of the campfire and the moonlight spilling in through the wooden slats of the shack. They had consumed more than a little jet and Violet was distracted, her mind running off in a million different directions, not knowing which one to take but desperately wanting to talk to him. They were quiet for a while, Hancock’s back laying atop one of the mattresses with his hands behind his head while Violet leaned her back against the wall of the shack with her eyes closed.

Violet’s mind was racing and she was desperate for some Mentats, something to take the edge off and give her the courage required to talk to Hancock about her past. She had been thinking a lot lately and she knew she wanted to share them with him. She reached over for her bag, summoning up the tin of Mentats and scraping the last few tablets to place into her mouth.

***

   

Minutes passed and Violet felt as though she was about as high as she was going to get. Combined with the fact that she had already almost finished her bottle of beer, she took a deep breath.  

“When I first woke up,” Violet suddenly began, breaking the thick blanket of silence, “I was scared shitless to kill anyone—kill any _thing_ , for that matter. I had problems even squishing radroaches, because they were so… _Big._ It was easy to kill bugs before; they were about like this.” She held up her fingers in an attempt to convey the size. “I remember the first person I ever killed. I hadn’t even been here 12 hours before I was rushing into Concord with a shitty 10-mil, assuming I was only about to fight more bloatflies. The first raider to go down was this guy, I couldn’t see his face because he had one of those sacks over his head. I couldn’t hear a damn thing, honestly could hardly see at that point and my heart was pounding out of my chest. Dogmeat was holding him down by his arm and I had a clean shot so I steadied my pistol with both hands, squeezed an eye shut and shot him right through the chest. He collapsed immediately and I didn’t even have time to think about it before I killed another, and then two more.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t even know how to properly fire a gun. I had never done anything like that before. I actually hated the things.”

She stopped for a moment; her mind lost in the vivid memory of her first evening in the Commonwealth. “I remember when we were leaving, I saw all those bodies littering the street and I kept thinking about how… _I_ had done that. Not all by myself, but you know. I had killed them. And I just wondered what the old Violet would have thought of that, you know?”

Hancock studied Violet’s face, noticing the way the corner of her mouth kept twitching when she would pause, and the way her brow was furrowing as she relived every second. Her story came to an abrupt end then, as Violet’s hand dug into her jeans’ pocket to whip out a package of cigarettes and her lighter. She lit it slowly and deliberately exhaled as she conjured up the nerve to divulge the details of her next story. Violet had a feeling she was annoying Hancock, not really thinking about what she was saying. It was more like an inner dialogue she was having out loud. But when she glanced over at him, his eyes were focused and he seemed intent on listening to her. Truth be told, he was interested in anything she had to say, as long as he got to look at her. So, she continued. 

“So, a few days later I was with Preston, right?” He nodded, maintaining eye contact with her as he reached for his own package of cigarettes deep within his coat pockets, craving one as he watched her smoke

“We were at one of those old… military satellite places, you know, with the big white discs?” Hancock nodded again, now smoking his own cigarette jointly with her. “I was still new at all of this, I just remember my entire body aching like hell and that every cut and nick to my skin felt like a bullet hole. So I wasn’t a master tactician, not like I am now, of course.” She smirked sarcastically and he laughed softly in response. “But that meant I had let my guard down. I couldn’t hear any more raiders, thought we had gotten rid of all of them. So, I decided to wander around a bit, see if I could find the locket we had gone looking for in there, for those settlers over at Abernathy? You remember them?”

“Yeah, I do.” His bony fingers flicked a few ashes onto the stilted floor as he pulled his knees in toward him, his boots planted on the floor.

“Suddenly I just felt something _yank_ me around, these giant, meaty, sweaty hands, and then I was face-to-face with this tall, _ugly_ motherfucker. I almost screamed but instead I tried to jerk free, tried to reach for the pistol at my hip, but that’s when I realized there was someone else behind me, holding my arms in place. I was trapped between these two guys, worst people I had _ever_ smelled up to that point, most rotten teeth. The guy in front had this eyepatch and I’ll never forget the inhumane laugh he let out when he saw me struggling. I couldn’t see Preston anywhere, so I decided to scream to grab his attention. He cut me short by throwing me onto my back on the floor, fucking hurt like shit, pure concrete.”

Violet dragged the burnt-out cigarette against the wooden floor, feeling her body stiffen uncomfortably as she recalled the memory. “Before I knew it, he was over me and his friend was holding my hands over my head like this.” She lifted her hands into the air, her hands in fists and elbows bent. “That was when I thought, _oh my god, I am actually going to die. I’m actually going to fucking die._ I really thought I was. I had never been that close, physically, to someone who was fighting me. Up until then I actively avoided close-quarters combat. But now this man was hovering over me with a goddamn butcher knife hanging over my face. Or at least, that’s what it looked like to me.”

Hancock was intrigued now, holding his cigarette between his fingers as he watched her, engulfed in the tale and feeling a heat rise in his stomach as he thought of someone attempting to harm Violet like that.

“I decided to just fucking close my eyes and I kept thinking, _God, if you exist, fuck you for this, fuck you so much and when I die in a second please feel free to send me to hell because it can’t possibly be worse than this.”_ She let out a self-deprecating laugh, then. “Fucked up. Anyway, I suddenly felt this thing scraping against my face. It was cold and it stung like nothing I had ever felt before. But I opened my eyes and kept quiet. Bit my tongue until it bled as I felt this dude carve my face open.”

She lifted a finger to the center of her face and drew two lines in the air over her scars. “They just kept laughing at me and saying the most _disgusting_ shit and I had to lay there and take it. I didn’t know what else to do, I had never felt so helpless in my entire goddamned _life_. I was wishing he would just stab me through the chest and get it all over with instead of whatever the fuck was coming up next but I was bracing myself for the worst as the other guy’s grip tightened on me and the one with the knife leaned in closer with that disgusting breath. The guy who was holding me down kept egging him on and throwing out suggestions while the knife guy kept throwing me threats. I remember as he gave me the second cut, he kept saying shit like ‘ain’t so pretty anymore’. Just kept cruelly complimenting me as they hurt me.” Violet froze suddenly as she felt a pressure against her chest. She took a deep breath and continued.

“He kept telling me shit about what he was gonna do to me later, after he was done cutting me up, after they got rid of ‘my friend’. I kept kicking my legs up, trying to throw him off of me but he was just too big and I felt so useless, like nothing. He just kept grabbing at me and unzipping my vault suit and touching me all over and as my face was bleeding he leaned over and shoved his tongue down my throat. I didn’t fucking know what to do, I just took it. The guy holding my hands finally said something about ‘carving a smile on my face’, you know, like this?”

She brought two fingers to the corners of her mouth and traced an invisible line across her face, imitating a Glasgow Smile. Hancock nodded, his expression stoic and eyes fixed on hers. “He brought his knife to the corner of my lips then and I felt a slight pressure as he started to cut, and then suddenly a red beam materialized out of nowhere and hit him right in the shoulder. He fell over backwards, and the other guy scrambled to his feet. I got up, whipped my gun out, and shot the guy holding my arms straight in the chest. Then I turned to eyepatch guy, on the floor with his knife scattered across the room.” She took another heavy breath. “And I shot him right in the face. I aimed at the nose and pulled the trigger and just… Did it. He exploded all over me but I was too fucking _angry_ to even care, I just kept shooting and shooting and shooting at this guy’s ugly fucking face, didn’t want to see it anymore, didn’t want anyone to ever see it again. Preston had to run over and collect me; I think I scared the shit out of him but when I told him the whole story later he understood.” Violet leaned back, then, sliding her back down the wall into a slouch, pausing and taking a huge breath.

“So, yeah. That’s where these guys came from.” She gestured to the blemishes.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Hancock replied softly, moving in closer to Violet, noticing that she was trying to keep her lips from quivering. “Fucking hate that stories like that are so _god_ damn common.” He felt a pang of guilt in his chest for spending so much time thinking the scars on her face were sexy. He thought she may have won them in some kind of fight, she acted a bit proud of them. “I know it doesn’t mean shit but I’m really, _really_ fuckin’ sorry you had to go through that.”

“It could have been a lot worse. I think that was the first time someone really, _truly_ saved my life out here. I didn’t let him out of my sight for days.” She laughed a little. “I know this is really fucked up, I know I’ve said it before, but I… I really do like them, anyway.” She traced a hand over one of the indents in her skin. “Obviously not the way I got them, but… I dunno. I feel like I would have done something similar to myself if that fucker hadn’t.” Hancock stopped at the last statement.

“Whaddya mean?” She shrugged.

“I dunno, just… I kept looking at myself in the mirror and hated how ugly I thought I had gotten, kept thinking about how much I had changed. I kept thinking of new ways to change myself—chopped my hair off first chance I got, started making my own makeup and shit. Nothing made me feel better, so it was probably only a matter of time before I went for the knife.”

They sat in silence then, Hancock processing what she had just told him. He had always felt a strong kinship with Violet, of course, and he knew they were incredibly similar, but with each and every piece of information about herself that she offered to him he felt the bond grow stronger. He understood, probably more than anyone, the feeling of wanting to destroy yourself, physically and mentally. Hancock didn’t know each and every precise reason she had for feeling the way she did about herself, but he knew what she meant. He wished she didn’t have to experience it too.

 

Violet’s head suddenly fell slowly to rest on Hancock’s shoulder, bringing her body in closer to his and running a hand across his leg. He leaned into her in return, leaving a kiss at the top of her head. He watched as her eyes closed and her breathing steadied, finally successful in her attempt to keep from crying. He almost wished she would cry, just let it out to him. From what he had heard she certainly earned it. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder then, gently running his hand across her body. Hancock contemplated the story she had just told him and began to wonder why she even let him touch her at _all._ If that encounter was one of her first experiences in the Commonwealth, it was shocking to him that she still held her new life in such high regard. Or that she continued to let anyone touch her in any way.

If this life was preferable to the one she used to have, he couldn’t imagine what her old life was like.

 

Violet stirred slightly beneath him suddenly, lifting her face to meet his with a mellow grin. She gently placed her lips to his, a sweet and almost chaste act that lasted for only a few seconds. When she pulled away, she was greeted with a similarly understated smile. He hadn’t planned on Violet being ready for physical activity again so quickly, especially after her mind had clearly been focused on such a traumatic story. He welcomed it, of course, but also noticed she was acting differently. Each movement was soft and light, her fingers slowly and barely tracing over the fabric of his trousers. They kissed again, deeper this time, but still tenderly. As their tongues slowly danced, Hancock held her head between his coarse hands, gently running his thumbs over her cheek, then lightly brushing over her scars. She felt different beneath him now, somehow, more fragile and delicate. Like he had to take extra care to not break her.

Hancock had always admired Violet’s strength. She had been through so much, survived more shit than even _he_ had been through, and had come out of everything with still some fight left in her. Each and every new story she shared with him, every detail about herself that he discovered, only impressed him more. She had definitely exceeded every expectation.  

Maybe it was just the chems talking, but now Violet seemed different to him. She was a person, now. She could be traumatized and broken down and used and she could feel deeply, maybe even too much, about people and things and ideas. She wasn’t an enigma, she was a woman, and she was a deeply hurt one. She was just good at hiding it.

So was he.

 

It was Violet who made the first move this time, obviously affected by having to relive the experience she had just told him about. She tugged at the lapel of his coat, bringing him on top of her as she rested her head against the floor of the shack. She kissed him again, grinding her hips delicately up against his own. Though she was leading, her movements were subtle and controlled, each roll of her hips were slight and every touch to his body was light and chaste. She took her time exploring his body with her hands this time, taking extra care to brush her fingers over each crease and divot that decorated his chest and arms. Violet wanted to silently let him know how much she appreciated him, all of him. Hancock was perfect to her, not despite his flaws, but because of them. She still had no clue where they stood romantically, and she was too terrified to ask. All she knew was that being with him felt better to her than anything she had ever experienced before. She wanted him to know, by sharing all of herself with him.

As they shed their clothing and their forms pressed together, Hancock felt a shiver bolt through his body. He moaned into her mouth as Violet unbuttoned his pants and ran her hand across his length. Without a second thought, she pushed him back gently as a hint to switch places. He obliged, pushing his trousers down his legs and off of his body as he laid down. She kissed him deeply, then, her hand slowly working his cock.

When she moved herself down to wrap her mouth around him, he brought his hands to gently grasp her head. Every touch he planted on her was slight and barely-there. Hancock was overcome with the desire to savor her entirety—the softness of her skin, the unruliness of her hair, the little sounds and sighs she made into him, the way it felt whenever his cock hit the back of her throat.

Violet was embarrassed to find herself blinking back tears as she worked him, too emotional and lost in her feelings. She told herself it was the chems, but she knew she always felt this much for him anyway. Deep groans escaped from Hancock’s throat as she sucked his cock, her hand following close behind swollen lips. Though Violet was trying her best to mask the abundance of emotions she was feeling, Hancock could feel it with every bob of her head and every slide of her hand. He lifted himself up to rest on his elbow, keeping his other hand affixed in her hair, though he didn’t pull at it. He was enjoying this newfound gentleness more than he thought he would, and he had to hold his breath to keep from finishing too quickly as she moved up to sink herself into his cock.

She rode him, hands pressed to his bare chest and their eyes transfixed on one another. They were silent except for the loud breaths and gasping and the little moans that would slip from their lips. It was intimate and expressive and very different from the other times they had spent together. It didn’t take long before Hancock was panting and the light grip he had been keeping on her hips tightened involuntarily as he came inside her, a much less intense sensation considering the amount of times they had spent together in the past 24 hours. As the last bit of him spilled into her, Violet collapsed onto his chest, her body heaving. He wrapped his arms around her as she quietly sobbed on top of him. Neither of them said a word. He didn’t ask questions or offer words of reassurance, just gently ran his fingers through her hair and across her back as he felt the wetness of her tears fall onto his body.

She fell asleep that way, Hancock deciding to not bother her with the Rad-X just yet as she finally rolled slightly off of him to bury herself into his side. He followed quickly after, keeping his arm around her as he drifted off into a sleep, his mind racing but then screeching to a halt as he came to one realization.

_I think I love her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, first off I'm so sorry it took me longer than usual to get this chapter out. I started writing it immediately after I published the last, but I had a lot of shit happen. I've been losing a TON of money since moving here, I'm almost broke, and I'm struggling to find a steady job. This is really affecting my depression and I'm having a super hard time concentrating and writing. I'm not particularly proud of this chapter because I don't think it's anywhere as good as the others, but I really wanted to update.
> 
> Also, I figured I'd share this with you guys. I started writing the story that Violet tells in this chapter weeks ago and got about halfway through it. Shortly after, I had something kind of fucked up happen to me in my real life that also contributed to my deteriorating mental health. I ended up, essentially, having a sexual assault-type situation happen to me. I still don't feel comfortable calling it that because I keep replaying the events and thinking that I wasn't trying hard enough to stop it even though I didn't want it, and it could have been a LOT worse than it really was. But everyone I've spoken to about it has said that's what it was, and it felt like it to me. So anyway, that is a thing that happened, and afterwards I had a hard time continuing this chapter, spent several days away from writing altogether. I considered cutting the story and thinking of something else, but honestly writing it was pretty therapeutic. My way of dealing with things is by telling the world about every last detail of my life, I guess, which is why this author's note is here, lol. I'm not doing this for sympathy or for anyone to leave comments about anything other than the fic, I promise, I just thought I'd put this in here for context and also as an explanation for why this chapter is lacking. I am fine! 
> 
> I'm trying so hard to find the motivation to keep continuing, because, trust me, I love writing this and I love how many people are enjoying it. But my creativity and writing skills are just kind of blown to shit right now. I've already started the next chapter, but I'm not sure how long it'll take me to publish that one either. Nevertheless, thank you so much to everyone who's taken the time to read, leave kudos, or write a comment. Every time I receive one it really makes my day. Love you all, and until next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends don't let friends fuck around with the mayor of Goodneighbor.

Relief washed over Hancock at the sight of Violet waking up the next morning. He had spent much of the night trapped in his own thoughts, an anxiety that not even the chems could quell. He ached for something, _anything,_ to take him out of his own damn mind. The arm he had lying beneath Violet’s neck and shoulders pulled her in closer, drawing a sleepy and slight chuckle from her lips. His heart suddenly panged with the miserable realization that he was quickly becoming used to sharing a bed with her. This was the very fear that was prevalent through much of the previous night, jolting him awake every time he finally managed to drift off. The game had been fun, at first. It always was. But he hadn’t grown bored of her yet. Hancock had figured that, after he had gotten her into bed a few times, the novelty would wear off and he’d realize it was the concept of her, not the real Violet, that he was after. Pretty soon he’d be chasing after the next person, and she would be too. He knew she was the same. Sure, he figured they would keep fucking—why wouldn’t they? But once the physical tension was released, any remaining feelings were usually quashed as well. Of course, everything about Violet just had to be different.

At least she would get started on some goddamn topic of conversation to distract him, any time now.

“How do we always end up like this?” she finally asked with a groggy smile. He laughed in response.

“You’re too damn tempting.” He brought her in for a gentle kiss, chaste and quick, before she rolled onto her other side and groaned.

“I gotta get to HQ.” A few moments of silence passed as Hancock closed his eyes again, desperate for just a few moments of sleep, as Violet gathered the will to sit up.

Eventually, she pushed herself up and rubbed her eyes, smearing black makeup across her face and all over her hands. She looked over at her companion as he lay on his back, an arm covering his eyes in an attempt to block out the sun. She smiled to herself before standing and collecting her clothes, pushing away the many doubts and worries that were clouding her own brain. She was concerned that she had overshared, made him uncomfortable. Even so, what she _had_ divulged to him was only barely scratching the surface. She was a woman with immense baggage, and he had enough to worry about without adding her own shit on top of it.

Once she was dressed, Violet moved next to Hancock, sitting on her knees as she watched his bare chest slightly rise and fall with every breath. Her body still ached from the previous day—and the one before—but that was the joy of it all, she supposed. They just couldn’t keep their fucking hands off each other.

“Come on,” Violet coaxed with a grin, watching as he removed his arm from his fluttering eyes. “I was supposed to be there yesterday, and I know I’m gonna catch hell from Deacon about it.” Hancock snorted.

“What, you worried about _him?”_ She playfully rolled her eyes.

“Yes. Come on, I can make you some shitty coffee. I’ll even slip in some whiskey for you.” He grinned at that.

***

The two made it to the Old North Church in no time, and Violet had been right about Deacon. He had started tormenting her as soon as she arrived, starting a back-and-forth that Hancock was too preoccupied to pay attention to. Deacon was a friend of Violet’s, and the two were about as close as the spy could possibly get with anyone, and for the most part, Hancock thought he was alright. He had a deep understanding of the mind of a smartass. But when the two had arrived, something just rubbed him the wrong way. He kept replaying the conversation that had occurred once they stepped inside.

“Whisper! You’re late!” Deacon had announced as the two emerged from the front steps.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she began to apologize.

“What, were you busy doin’ something else?” He had glanced behind her, giving John the once-over. “Ahh, yeah, guess you were.” He smirked.

“Shut the fuck up,” Violet had responded with a smirk and an eyeroll, smacking him in the arm as she walked past him.

 

He knew they were fucking around, but something about the exchange left him uncomfortable. Or maybe it was the chems making him paranoid again. It was a relief when Violet told him she planned to stay at HQ for a while, so he could do his own thing, meet up later. He didn’t go far. Hancock now leaned over a rusted railing not too far from the church, lazily flicking cigarette ashes into the murky water below. Though he had tossed and turned all night, he was wide awake now, his brain refusing to shut the fuck up for even one second. A billion words and thoughts and phrases raced around his mind, too many for him to keep track of, so many that it hurt. He compulsively shoved a hand down his coat pocket for a Mentat, though he knew they wouldn’t be much help at this point. They’d clear some of the racket in his brain, sure, but probably leave him hyperfixating on a thought he wasn’t keen on thinking about.

Nevertheless, Hancock swallowed three, at least to make the headache go away. Within minutes, he felt the chem’s effect—a subtle wave of dopamine rushing over him, dissipating the haziness and pain in his head. What remained was a single train of thought: _What to do about Violet?_ It was ridiculous and infantile, a rookie mistake that he hadn’t made in a long, long time. Don’t fall in love with your sexual partners. Hancock enjoyed his relationship with sex and drugs: Hubristic, indulgent, maybe careless, stupid and dangerous, to those who didn’t know how to have fun. And he was able to continue with this lifestyle by not bringing _John_ into it.

He was _John Hancock_ , sure, but he wasn’t just _John_. Few would address him as such, and for good reason. That wasn’t who he was anymore, and he didn’t care to be. There was a distinct difference between John McDonough and John Hancock, a deliberate and cognizant decision on his part. No one around knew John McDonough anymore, and he didn’t care to bring him back now. John was messy and emotional, cowardly and reckless—not in the fun way. He felt too strongly and hurt too deeply. He refused to get hurt again.  

As he finished his cigarette, letting it drop into the ocean beneath him, he contemplated his options. He could go back to Goodneighbor; it wasn’t far, and who knew how long Violet was going to be playing Errand Girl for the Railroad? And besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have the right to leave her there. She had done the same to him. And it wasn’t like he would be hard to find. The two had agreed to reconvene outside the church at sundown, where Violet planned on giving him the lowdown on their next course of action. His heart raced at the thought of seeing Violet emerge from the escape tunnel, wearing that goddamned vault suit that she must have insisted on changing into for no other reason than to torture him. He couldn’t do it.

 

John heaved a sigh and swung his body around, his back to the water now, facing the city. Well, what the fuck else was he supposed to do? He reached a hand into his coat pocket once again, this time for some jet. He had the goddamned shakes again, and the withdrawal had him even more on edge. He dipped his head backward slightly as he took a hit, then tossed the empty plastic over his shoulder as his senses numbed.

Hancock hated himself for feeling this way, hated himself for allowing Violet to get all wrapped up in his shit. He knew it was a mistake, knew it would be from the second he met her. She had fucked up his whole operation. Hancock didn't _get_ attached. He was the one everyone knew to go to for a good time, to get high and fuck, to not worry about anything serious. He had so carefully crafted this persona for himself, numbed all other parts of himself with the chems and the booze, conditioned himself to forget what it was like to deeply love, to grow attached. He had long since learned it was more trouble than it was worth.

He wanted to kick himself.

It was enough for him to reach for the next hit of jet, inhaling as his other hand went for the Mentats tin. Maybe if he blacked out, he would forget everything. Maybe it would make him feel better about what he was about to do.

***

Violet lifted her Pip-Boy to her face, noting the time. She knew she was incessantly fidgeting in her chair, itching to get up and get shit done. She took great pride in working for the Railroad, but she had too much on her mind. She had done what she came there to do—drop off the password, receive her next assignments, pick up some supplies and check up on the other agents.

Oh, and to get harassed by Deacon, of course.

“Hey, it’s almost sundown,” she finally announced to Deacon, who was leaning back in the chair across from her, an open book in his lap.

He looked up. “So, we headin’ out then?”

“If you’re up for it.” Violet wasn’t sure how Hancock would react to her dragging him along on more Railroad errands, especially with Deacon, but she noticed Hancock was acting differently that morning and thought it would maybe break whatever tension was between them.

Or at least add a different _kind_ of tension for them to think about instead.

She was still preoccupied with the story she had relayed to him the previous night and worrying about his reaction. Was that why he was insistent on sticking behind? She knew she shouldn’t have told him all of that. It was too much, too soon. She had a bad habit of doing that, and she swore up and down it was a mistake she’d never make again. Her heart pounded whenever she thought about it.

Nevertheless, she and Deacon said their goodbyes to the other agents and pushed open the door leading to the escape tunnel. As they waded through the murky waters, Deacon broke the uncomfortable silence.

“So. The mayor of Goodneighbor, huh?” Violet stopped walking to face him, his face covered in the extra shadows of the tunnel.

“What?” she attempted.  

“Whisper, you should know by now: Nothin’ gets past me.” He flashed a smarmy grin before quickly dropping it and adding, “Can’t say I’m surprised, but, I gotta say, I just… Worry about you.” It was clear that he struggled with the last part of his statement, and she raised an eyebrow inquisitively, not used to seeing her friend act as earnest as he was now.

“You worry about me?” Violet snorted. “Now why do I feel like that’s a lie?” Deacon laughed a bit at that.

“You know me too well. But seriously. You know I _care_ about you. As much as I can. And I know your history. I just don’t want you to get hurt, for both your sake, and the Railroad’s.”

“Deeks, I’m a grown ass woman,” Violet snapped, crossing her arms. “I can handle myself. I’m allowed to fuck around with whoever I want.” Her head reeled, though. Exactly how much of her past was Deacon aware of? They had told each other plenty of personal information, and she felt as though he hadn’t been lying about Barbara. But she hadn’t told him her whole story either—no one had the time to sit and listen to all of her bullshit, and she didn’t care to tell. But he was damn good at what he did, and she knew that he knew more about her than she thought. “And for your information, this is different than whatever you’re thinking about,” she added. “We’re not romantically involved.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Deacon replied. Violet could feel his eyes unnervingly piercing through hers, even from behind those goofy-ass sunglasses. “That’s just about the _worst_ fucking lie I’ve _ever_ heard. Have you learned _nothing_ from me?”

“Why are you _soooo_ fucking concerned about this all of a sudden anyway?” Violet demanded.  

“Listen, I don’t say this to anyone, so listen up: I… Well, I trust you. At least as much as I can trust anyone, so that’s saying a lot. And do you know why I decided to put that much faith in you?” Violet was still, her arms still crossed, eyebrow cocked upwards. “Because we’re the same. We both got a past to hide. We both lie just to make it out here. And we both have good reason to make up these personas and shield ourselves. And the second you let that guard of yours down, you’re fucked.” Violet closed her eyes and heaved a sigh.

“So,” she started, finally uncrossing her arms, “you’re worried that this is somehow going to compromise the mission? Even though you don’t seem to have an issue with any of my other friends?”

“Well, to answer the first question: you know that this operation’s my main priority, so yes,” he answered, “but as your friend… I just know how you handle these things. These types of situations, with these types of people. It’s not pretty, Whisper. It’ll only take one setback, and your whole world’s gonna come crashing down. And not only will that hurt the Railroad, but you’ll also be hurting yourself.” Violet’s heart sank and she felt her body turn cold. She could have fucking decked him for having such a good read on her. She adored spending time with the spy, but it inevitably left her feeling vulnerable and naked. She had gone through so much effort to build these walls, and the fact that Deacon could see right past them troubled her. She hadn’t given him permission.    

“Okay, I get it. I’ll detach myself, or whatever. Do whatever a good agent does, I guess.” Her tone was especially sharp and bitter, and she hoped it would somehow get to him. But it felt like nothing ever did. “Can we go now?”

Deacon shrugged defeatedly, allowing Violet to move past him first, her boots sloshing through the water as she led them to the door to the North End.

 

They were both quiet as they leaned against the bricks of the church as the sun set across the wastes. Deacon took the opportunity to change into another disguise as Violet nervously sucked down a cigarette, straining her eyes for any sign of Hancock.

Minutes passed, and the city turned dark. Violet and Deacon were still standing outside HQ. Every worst-case scenario flashed through the woman’s head and she could feel her chest constricting. She knew she had done wrong, knew she had made that classic fucking Violet mistake of sharing too much too soon and lying about not having feelings. She had fucking scared him away. He had left her.

He wouldn’t do that.

Her hand reached into her jean pocket, but Deacon’s hand grabbed her wrist.

“Dude, that was your fifth cigarette in a row,” he said. “Relax.” Her face was pale white, her eyes fixated on the bridge in the distance, fingers tensed around the package of cigarettes and wrist rigid underneath Deacon’s hand.

“I am relaxed,” she lied again, and poorly at that. 

More minutes passed. Violet checked her Pip-Boy. 20 past sundown. And then 30. They had been standing in silence.

35 minutes, and then Deacon’s hand was on her shoulder.

“Violet.” He never used her name. “I don’t think he’s coming back.” Deacon’s voice was careful, soft. She had only heard him speak in that tone one other time, and it was when he spoke of Barbara. Violet blinked furiously, her eyes burning. She started to open her mouth to speak, but found herself at a loss for words. She struggled for a moment before composing herself. A million thoughts rushed through her head, anxieties of abandonment and horrible memories flooding back. _That wasn’t him._

“You’re right. He probably went to the Rail and passed out.” She let out a little laugh and rolled her eyes, but noticed that Deacon wasn’t smiling. “Let’s go get him.” Violet gestured to her companion as she set off.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience! I know it took me more than a month to churn this one out but a lot has been happening. I actually wrote a majority of this during a manic episode and decided to just roll with it, lmao. Love you guys. I'll try to get the next chapter out quicker, I just have such an issue with these transitional chapters. I'm honestly proud of myself for even getting this one done at all, LOL. I can't tell you the amount of stories I've abandoned because I knew I wanted to get from Point A to Point B but I'd just type "write later" in-between and then never get back to it. Thank you again for always supporting this story!


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